


Inévitablement

by silver_etoile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Painter!Merlin, Prequel, lawyer!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is married to his job and he doesn't need to be set up, thank you very much. Besides, when Gwen attempts to introduce him to the badly-dressed painter, Arthur only ends up insulting his life's work, so he figures there's not much point in trying to make things right until, that is, he sees Merlin smile. If only he could stop messing things up and get it right. Prequel to Morning Glory</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inévitablement

**Author's Note:**

> Like it says, this is a prequel to [Morning Glory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/908736). Only took me 4 months to finish. O.o

_inévitablement: inevitably, necessarily, inescapably_

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Arthur protests as Gwen practically shoves him through the door.

“If you weren’t here, you’d just be buried in legal briefs,” Gwen says knowingly, tucking back an unruly curl and giving him an obvious look. “It’s good to get out once in a while. Besides, if you don’t, I will tell Morgana that you were the one who ate her cake when you were over last week.”

“You are truly evil.”

Gwen only smiles and gives Arthur a nudge.

Of all the places Arthur could be on a Saturday afternoon, he doesn’t want to be forced into some pittance of an art gallery. Real art hung in museums or on the walls of his father’s manor home. He honestly doesn’t know how Gwen talked him into this, but he suspects it has something to do with the fact that she has an unnervingly sweet face that no one can say no to.

The gallery isn’t even in London, yet another fact that doesn’t recommend it to Arthur. He’d had to drive half an hour to get there, and he doesn’t even know why except that Gwen’s friend will be here somewhere.

Arthur has never met said friend, nor does he see why he needs to now. He’s got plenty of work waiting back at the office for him.

“Just try to enjoy yourself,” Gwen says as she opens the door to the gallery.

That’s definitely going to be a problem, Arthur thinks as his gaze falls on the room before him. It’s surprisingly large, larger than Arthur expected it to be, bright with natural light coming in through many windows and partitioned for the display.

The size of the room doesn’t make up for its contents, though, and Arthur makes a face as Gwen goes in before him.

In all his studies, Arthur has touched on the subject of art, and his father has quite the collection at the estate. This, however, is not art.

He stops at a painting (more like splotches of color seemingly unrelated to anything) and frowns at the canvas. Around him, other people mill, drinking cheap wine and snacking on cheese plates. The painting is making Arthur’s head hurt the longer he looks at it. He checks his watch and wonders how long until they can get out of here.

“Good, isn’t it?” A voice comes from behind him, and Arthur sighs, put-upon.

“Splotches aren’t art,” he says simply. A five year old could do that. Why put it up on a wall, slap a three-hundred quid price tag on it and call it art? It was simply a waste.

“Who are you, the art police?” comes the scoff from behind him and Arthur turns, his eyes falling on a tall man wearing an ugly reddish orange scarf, black skinny jeans, and a v-neck teeshirt.

“You’re lucky I’m not the fashion police,” Arthur mutters, but the guy hears him and frowns. Other than his clothes, he’s mildly good-looking, if he doesn’t count the elephant ears and ridiculous cheekbones.

“Excuse me?”

Arthur ignores him and gestures at the painting instead. “It isn’t art.”

“Oh, and what’s art, pray tell?” the guy asks, crossing his arms, an eyebrow raised.

Arthur adjusts his suit jacket and turns back to the painting. “Art is what hangs in the Louvre. Art has a story. Art takes thought. This, this is just something a child could do.”

His answer doesn’t seem to please the man from the way his shoulders bristle.

“I suppose you’re one of those blokes who’s got an original Van Gogh hanging in the toilet,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And any bit of creativity has been strangled out of you with that tie of yours. If anything, art is subjective and those splotches could mean more to one person than all the works of Michelangelo put together.”

Arthur isn’t impressed, and he isn’t going to be convinced that that useless painting - a swirl of red, blues, and greens - means anything to anyone. 

“My father’s dogs could do a better job than that.”

The man’s face changes into something uglier. “Ah, so you’re just a pompous ass, then.”

Arthur doesn’t bother to defend himself. He believes everything he’s said, and if that makes him pompous in this man’s eyes, well, so be it. He isn’t there to please anyone. He is only there on Gwen’s insistence. Speaking of, Arthur hasn’t seen her since they entered.

“There you are.” Her voice comes from behind him and she hands him a glass of what had to be cheap wine. “Oh, you’ve met. Good.” She smiles at Arthur and then the other man.

“Met?” Arthur repeats skeptically.

“This is my friend, Merlin.” She nods at the other man, who looks even less impressed as she introduces him.

“Fuck,” Arthur says as he realizes. 

Gwen frowns at him. “What?”

“You’re the painter.”

Merlin jerks his chin in agreement, arms still pressed tightly over his chest. “And you’re an art snob.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Gwen sighs as though she already knows what happened. Then again, they’ve known each other long enough that she probably does.

Arthur takes a sip of his glass and immediately makes a face. This has to be ten quid wine from the local grocers. Instead of answering Gwen’s gaze, he looks around the gallery.

“Is there anything better to drink?” he asks.

“Not posh enough for you?” Merlin asks. “Struggling artists, you know. They always get in the way.”

“I didn’t say—”

“I guess since we don’t add anything useful to society, we should give up and become corporate slaves.”

“I—”

Merlin doesn’t let Arthur get a word in edgewise as his hands go to his hips, blue eyes narrowing. “If my paintings aren’t good enough for you, the least you can do is keep your opinion to yourself. I doubt you’d know any real art if it wasn’t printed up in a book for you. If you’ll excuse me, I have people to talk to, people with open minds.”

He stalks away before Arthur can even process what happened. He isn’t surprised when Gwen turns to him, mouth set.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Can we get out of here now?”

Arthur doesn’t need to stay here any longer, not with Merlin pointedly ignoring him now. He can’t see that any good will come of staying, and he really does have work to get to. At least he can leave before he accidentally insults someone else.

Morgana always says he has about as much tact as a child. That is to say, none. Luckily for him, she’s not there or he would get a lot more than the disappointed look Gwen gives him as she agrees to leave and goes to bid goodbye to Merlin.

Arthur doesn’t watch the goodbyes, heading for the door and stepping into the crisp autumn weather. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he stops himself. He’s trying to quit. Trying, but it’s hard than he’d expected.

Instead, he tugs his jacket closed and digs car keys from his pocket. He’ll wait for Gwen in the car.

*

It starts to snow halfway back into the city, tiny flakes hitting the dashboard and skittering away. Arthur reaches over and turns up the heater, ignoring Gwen’s look. He’s been ignoring her look for the past twenty minutes.

“Why’d you have to insult him?” she asks finally, and Arthur knows Merlin told her what happened.

“I didn’t,” he says calmly. “He’s just touchy about paintings.”

“Well, it is his profession.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say. “I didn’t know he was your friend.”

“And that would have stopped you?” she asks doubtfully, and Arthur hesitates. He doesn’t always think before he speaks and Gwen knows it.

“There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Gwen sighs as though somehow disappointed in him, though he can’t figure why. It was just a gallery, just some bloke he’ll probably never see again. Arthur has insulted many a more important person in his day.

Maybe he does feel the tiniest bit of guilt, though, when Gwen shakes her head at the dash. 

“I didn’t bring you here so you could insult him.”

“Then why did you? You know I’ve got a ton of work to do.”

“I thought that you and Merlin would get on quite well, actually.”

Arthur pauses, glancing at Gwen and frowning as a thought dawns on him.

“Gwen, no,” he says sternly, slowing down for the car in front. The snow starts to thicken, obscuring the countryside in white. “You are not setting me up.”

She pouts. “I wasn’t. I just thought that you two might like each other. You’re both unbelievably stubborn. Clearly it isn’t going to work out due to you being an unmitigated ass.”

“Gwen!”

“Well?” she demands, turning to him, gaze unfaltering. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Arthur doesn’t reply, and she seems to take that as agreement. Turning back, she sinks down into her seat and stares out the window at the gathering snow.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just be nice.”

Arthur considers replying with, ‘I am nice’ but instead, he keeps quiet. Gwen is right, as usual. He would blame it on his father and the incredibly strict household he had grown up in, but at twenty-seven, he can no longer blame his problems on Uther. 

“If I apologize to Merlin, will that make you feel better?”

“It’s not about making me feel better,” she points out. “I _know_ you’re an ass. I’ve known that since before we had our ill-thought-out fling back in uni.” She pauses and then sets a hand on his arm. “I also know that you are a good man. The problem is that Merlin doesn’t.”

Arthur wants to groan but he doesn’t. Apologizing isn’t something he does often or well, but he supposes he can suck it up this one time. After all, Merlin is Gwen’s friend, and despite Merlin’s horrid fashion sense and questionably taste, he can’t be all bad.

“If I see him, I’ll apologize,” he says, though he’s fairly sure he’ll never see Merlin again. He’s never seen him before.

“Good,” Gwen says, tucking her hair back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

It’s the way she says it that sends a wave of unease through Arthur, but he says nothing and keeps driving as the snow drifts down before them.

*

Arthur’s mobile vibrates, buzzing off the edge of the table and clattering on the cafe floor. Pushing his hair aside, Arthur grabs it from the floor and glances at the screen. 

“What is it, Morgana?” he answers, grabbing a file folder in danger of slipping off.

His small, round table is piled high with briefs to read, reports to go through, and his coffee is running low. He likes this particular cafe, set down a little street where tourists don’t wander. The barista is a young, pretty girl who always smiles at him when he comes in.

With all the work he has to do, her smiles generally go unnoticed, and he sets himself up at his favorite table near the window with plenty of light streaming inside, bouncing off the snow on the street. 

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Morgana,” Arthur says with a sigh. He tosses the file back on the pile. “I have so much work to do.”

“Work,” she scoffs on the other end, and he hears the clang of a pot. “Work is not more important than your friends, Arthur, dear. You have to get out of that office some time. I’ll expect you at seven. Bring some wine. Will there be a plus one?”

Arthur rubs his forehead. He gazes at the pile of work before him. The case load lately has been increasingly heavy, and Arthur doesn’t need to waste yet another evening at Morgana and Gwen’s flat for a dinner party in which they discuss the same five topics over and over again.

“You promised you’d come,” Morgana reminds him when the silence stretches and Arthur tries to think of an excuse that isn’t work since Morgana won’t accept that. “So plus one or no?”

“No.” Arthur sighs and drains the last of his coffee. 

“Why not?”

Arthur’s hope of a quick conversation rapidly goes down the drain. 

“You should really get out more,” she says. “Meet someone who can put up with your prattish ways. It’d be good for you.”

“So, seven,” Arthur interrupts loudly. “Any wine preferences?”

“Something sweet,” she says, sufficiently distracted for the moment. “And don’t be late.”

“Goodbye, Morgana,” he says and hangs up.

He presses a hand to his face, already regretting agreeing to go. It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy spending time with Gwen and Morgana, but he’s got an upcoming case that requires his full attention, and he can’t be wasting time on social engagements.

Morgana would say he’s being anti-social, but work takes precedence. He’s the junior partner at the firm, and despite being the son of the head of the company, he can’t drop the ball. There is a lot of pressure on him most days, and letting anyone down is not on the agenda.

“Another cuppa?” 

Arthur lifts his head finally to the perky barista standing next to him, a coffee pot in her hand.

“Thanks, Elena,” he says, lifting up his mug and letting her fill it.

“Lots of work?” she asks, gazing at the piles of files.

“You have no idea.” Sitting there, he draws himself together, sitting up and taking back his coffee. He flashes her a smile, barely noting the flush that crawls across her cheeks. “I should get back to it.”

“Of course,” she agrees, nodding quickly, blond hair cascading over her shoulders. “Good luck.”

Arthur barely notices her leaving, turning back to his pile and grabbing a brief off the top.

*

Morgana’s dinner parties are usually a lot of the same thing over and over again. She insists on everyone dressing up, and Arthur usually brings some ridiculously expensive wine that gets everyone tipsy after just a glass. The crowd is mostly the same, generally only changing when someone starts dating someone new.

Lately, though, things have been rather quiet. Gwen has been seeing Lance for a few months and Morgana has yet to meet anyone new after she and Cenred broke up for what had to be the tenth time since they’d met.

Arthur stops by Morgana’s flat round seven - late as usual, but when he holds up the wine, her annoyed expression vanishes.

“You’re late,” she still says as he steps inside and shrugs off his coat. 

“I told you I’m busy at work.”

She presses her lips together and hangs up Arthur’s coat on the rack by the door. “Uther shouldn’t work you to death.”

“He doesn’t,” Arthur says, though they’ve had this conversation a million times before. There isn’t anything he can say to change Morgana’s opinion about Uther.

“When was the last time you were home before eight at night?” she asks pointedly, and Arthur doesn’t bother responding. They both know the answer.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks instead, bypassing her in the entranceway and heading to the dining room.

Morgana and Gwen’s apartment isn’t particularly large, but it’s big enough for a table that seats six. All six places are set for guests, Arthur notices, and he wonders who else is coming. 

“Gwen’s making a roast.” Morgana takes the bottle of wine to the counter and pulls out a corkscrew. “And I’ve made a trifle for dessert.”

Arthur takes a seat and arches an eyebrow. “A trifle? Is the queen coming for dinner?”

Morgana yanks the cork out of the bottle with a withering glare at him. “What is so wrong with trifle?”

He shrugs. “You just never make it unless someone important is coming and you want to impress them.”

“Trifles are hardly impressive.”

“But coming from you, any kind of cooking is impressive.”

“Shut up and drink some wine,” she says, handing him a glass, but it doesn’t make Arthur any less curious about who is coming for dinner.

Despite being late, Arthur is the first to arrive, which probably means that Morgana told everyone else seven-thirty since that’s when there’s a knock on the door and Lance steps in.

“Arthur, good to see you, mate,” he says cordially, as though he hasn’t seen Arthur in a while, and okay, yes, Arthur has been buried under court papers for a good month but he hasn’t exactly been a shut-in. After all, he went with Gwen to that gallery last week. “How’s work going?”

“Just fine,” Arthur says, shaking Lance’s hand, but Lance is distracted when Gwen comes out from the kitchen to say hello finally.

Lance kisses her on the cheek and hands over the bouquet of wildflowers he probably swept up as he rode in on his shining white horse. Arthur is happy for Gwen, though. It’s about time she found someone as nice as she is.

Morgana, on the other hand, sits back and sips her wine as though their chaste displays of affection bore her. Without Cenred around, she isn’t the center of anyone’s attention.

“Oh,” Lance says as Gwen takes his jacket and hangs it up. “Merlin said he’d be a little late. Got caught up in some work.”

Arthur nearly chokes on his drink at the mention of Merlin, his eyes flying to Gwen and then to Morgana, who looks absolutely disinterested in the whole thing.

“Merlin?” he manages to say as he wipes away the wine dribbling down his chin. “He’s coming?”

“You know him?” Lance asks, but Gwen pipes in before Arthur can grudge up a response.

“I invited him,” she says, and Arthur feels something hot and heavy drop into his stomach. Beside him, Morgana says nothing, though the way she takes a deliberate sip of her wine tells Arthur all he needs to know.

“Morgana, can I speak with you for a moment?” he asks, rising from the chair and heading for the kitchen.

She flashes him a smile as she passes and the door shuts behind them. “Problem, dear brother?”

“You and Gwen are both in on this, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she says simply, chin rising.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he all but hisses.

She rolls her eyes as though he’s being paranoid, which he is _not_.

“It’s a dinner party. We invite our friends.”

“No one’s ever invited him before. Not until Gwen, or maybe you, or maybe both of you, decided I needed to date someone.”

“From what I hear, you’ve already ruined your chances of that with Merlin,” she replies. “And you’re right. You do need to date someone, or at least have a good shag. You can’t live your life in that office with Uther telling you what to do forever.”

Arthur glares. “What I do or don’t do with my life is none of your business, Morgana, and I certainly don’t need you meddling in it. If I want to date someone, I will. End of discussion.”

Morgana doesn’t look satisfied with his answer, but the door opens and Gwen steps in before she can argue back. 

She turns to Arthur, a stern look on her face. “Merlin is here,” she says. “I invited him, and I expect you to be polite. Don’t forget you owe him an apology. I didn’t tell him you’d be here, so he’s probably not going to be very happy about that, so do your best not to offend him this time.”

Arthur wants to argue that he wasn’t _trying_ to offend Merlin the first time either, but Gwen’s uncharacteristically stern face stops him and he draws himself up, taking a large gulp of wine. 

“Fine,” he agrees. “But I don’t want either of you setting me up again, ever.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Gwen says. “Not after the idiot you made of yourself this time.”

Arthur glowers. “Thank you.”

“Shouldn’t keep the guests waiting,” Morgana says, breezing back into the sitting room.

“Don’t forget your promise,” Gwen reminds him before she, too, leaves him alone in the kitchen.

Dreading every step, Arthur returns to the sitting room, stepping out slowly. His eyes are immediately drawn to Merlin, who didn’t bother to dress up for the occasion. Perhaps he didn’t get the memo, but Arthur is fairly sure that his paint-splattered jeans and his ugly green jumper won’t go over too well with Morgana, who sports a slinky black dress and diamond earrings to match.

As Arthur watches, Merlin hasn’t noticed him yet, scratching a bit of paint off his nose and laughing at something Lance says. His face lights up, his smile spreading over his cheeks, and Arthur feels a punch to his gut at the sight.

Oh shit.

Merlin is beautiful when he smiles, he thinks. Absolutely gorgeous. He could light up a whole room in the dark. Arthur has never seen anyone come so alive with just a few muscles. 

All of a sudden, his fingers feel tingly, his stomach a jumble of unexplained nerves.

Merlin’s eyes flit towards him finally - the smile vanishes, replaced with a look of shock and surprise, followed quickly by deep annoyance etched into his features.

That’s right. Merlin hates him. Fuck.

The fluttery feeling in his stomach is replaced with a rock as Arthur takes another gulp of wine and moves towards Merlin.

“Merlin,” he says, trying to pretend that two seconds ago, he hadn’t been contemplating the beauty of Merlin’s cheekbones. “Hello.”

Merlin shifts his gaze sideways at Arthur, as though he is absolutely the last person he wants to see.

“Hi,” he grits out. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Neither did I,” Arthur says and then falters. “I mean, know that you would be here. I’m always here.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Right. Well, there are no paintings to insult tonight, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Lance is glancing between the two of them, and Arthur feels suddenly self-conscious in a way that he rarely has before, wishing Lance would go do something else. He knows Gwen is watching him, though, so he has to say it, Lance or not.

“Listen, about the other day,” he starts slowly, and Merlin’s hands shift to his hips. The jumper he has on truly is awful, Arthur finds himself thinking, distracted for a second by the white snowflakes stitched across the chest. He shakes himself. “I wanted to… apologize for how I acted. I spoke without thinking and I didn’t mean to insult anything.”

It comes out awkwardly, but apologies have never been his strong suit. His father always taught him never to apologize for anything but to be confident in his actions. Sometimes his actions aren’t quite thought through all the way, though.

“Wow,” Merlin deadpans. “That might have been the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say and he frowns. 

“But you looked like you were about to have an aneurysm when you said it, so I guess it must be sincere.”

Arthur isn’t sure that’s a good thing or not, but Merlin seems to have accepted it for now, and if Arthur can only stay on his good side and not insult anything else, things might be okay.

Merlin looks away, and Arthur takes the time to actually look at him. Up close, if you ignore the clothes, Merlin might be considered very attractive, or at least, that’s what Arthur thinks when his eyes graze over Merlin’s cheekbones, pink, pouted lips, and the long line of his neck that makes Arthur want to bite down it, leave a trail of red marks on the skin.

“Who’s the sixth?” Merlin asks, pulling Arthur abruptly from his train of thought.

“What?” he asks dumbly, and Merlin gestures at the table. 

“There are six places and only five people here.”

“Oh. It’s usually Cenred, but since he and Morgana broke up yet again—”

“I heard that!” Morgana interrupts from across the room.

“—It’s probably Leon.”

“Right.” Merlin bobs his head, and for a moment, an awkward silence falls. Arthur looks to Lance for some help, but to his surprise, Lance has left, talking with Gwen over by the table.

“So.” Arthur casts around for something else to say, unsure how to go about it now. “How was the rest of the gallery? You know, after I insulted your life’s work.”

To his relief, Merlin quirks a small smile. “One show is hardly my life’s work, but it was much nicer to have people with a broader view give their opinions.”

“I have studied art,” Arthur points out, and Merlin’s smile becomes more of a smirk.

“Maybe so, but you seem like the type to only think something’s good if someone else says so. Classical art, impressionism. Those are all things that someone in the past has told the world is good. I’m guessing you think most modern art is useless.”

“No…” Arthur says, though he can barely force it out, especially when Merlin shakes his head. “Okay, fine. I think most modern art isn’t even art. It takes little to no skill to accomplish and just because some art critic says it’s good doesn’t make it so.”

“I suppose you’ve painted then?”

“Of course not,” Arthur scoffs. “Do I look like I paint?”

Merlin’s gaze scans down Arthur, from his red tie to his pressed trousers. “No, in fact, I’m starting to think you sleep in your suits.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” Arthur says, and he enjoys the way Merlin pauses after that.

As much as it’s only going to make Gwen and Morgana gloat for years, Arthur finds himself more and more interested in Merlin. He’s never really talked with an artist before, not one like Merlin who can’t dress worth a damn, and yet, he seems to paint well enough to make a living off of it. He must not be color-blind.

Merlin blinks after a second, though, looking away. “I wonder what’s for dessert,” he says instead, but Arthur isn’t thinking of dessert. 

As Merlin continues to talk, Arthur merely watches him and smiles to himself.

*

Arthur ends up sitting next to Merlin (big surprise there, he thinks when he catches Morgana watching him over her glass), but he’s actually grateful for the opportunity to be able to take Merlin in from up close once more. Currently, Merlin listens to Gwen talking about her and Lance’s plan to go away for a weekend and debating where they should go.

“You know Lance?” Arthur asks as Morgana suggests Brighton as a destination.

Merlin glances over at him, all big blue eyes, five o’clock shadow above his lip, and how his hair is artfully pushed to the side. There’s a smatter of red paint in it.

“Yeah. That’s actually how I met Gwen.”

Arthur is surprised. He’d gotten the impression that Gwen had known Merlin a lot longer and simply never mentioned him before.

“So you hang around with the footie team?” he asks. Lance plays for the local professional team, right midfielder, although Arthur hasn’t had time to see a match lately.

“Not really.” Merlin makes a face. “I mean, they’re good-looking and all, not that I would pass up watching guys get sweaty together, but I’m not a big fan. I’ve known Lance since uni.”

“You went to university?”

Merlin must pick up on the surprise in Arthur’s voice because his shoulders bristle. “Yes, I went to Northampton.”

“I just thought - being a _modern_ artist - aren’t you supposed to be a free spirit? Doesn’t university sort of impede on that idea?”

“You seem to have a lot of ideas on what an artist should be.”

“Well, I—”

“You’re a solicitor, correct?”

This isn’t going well. Arthur stops and grabs his glass. “Yes.”

“So I imagine you went to a big, important university where they taught you grand ideas about the world and how it should and shouldn’t be. And now you work in a law firm where everything is perfectly organized in little file folders and if anything ever doesn’t fit in, you chuck it out. Right so far?”

At this rate, Arthur is never going to get Merlin to forgive him, and there go any ideas of getting Merlin to go out with him. Maybe Gwen can ask for him. He bets Merlin wouldn’t say no to Gwen. On the other hand, judging by the way Merlin is looking at him now, maybe he would say no even to Gwen. Besides, Arthur does not want Gwen involved in this any more than she already has been.

When Arthur doesn’t respond, Merlin leans over towards him, and Arthur forgets that Merlin is annoyed at him in the moment.

“The world isn’t a little file folder,” Merlin says, voice lowering as he stares at Arthur and Arthur stares back. “You can’t bin whatever doesn’t fit. And you can’t explain how everything is. That’s the beauty of art. It’s sad you can’t see it.”

“Maybe you should show me,” Arthur says, watching the flicker of confusion in Merlin’s expression for a second before Merlin sits back, licking his lips and reaching for his glass.

“I know a lost cause when I see one,” he replies simply, and Arthur sits back as well. This is going to be harder than he thought.

*

After-dinner drinks are served in the sitting room, and Arthur meanders over to where Morgana stands by the television set, watching Lance and Leon’s discussion of football matches. Gwen hovers near to Lance, a dreamy smile on her face.

“What are you going to do if Gwen and Lance get married?” he asks, and Morgana’s gaze slides to him, eyes narrowed.

“Who said anything about married?”

“They have been dating for a while now.”

“Three months is not a while,” she corrects him, lifting her glass to her lips and pausing. “I’m sure I’d manage somehow. Perhaps I’d rent her room to a tattooed, American biker. Would that please father, do you think?”

“I don’t think anything you’d do would please him.”

She smirks and takes a sip finally, the golden liquid swishing around her glass. “Precisely.” She nods at Merlin instead, and Arthur glances at him. Merlin stands next to Lance, not offering any opinions but seemingly listening attentively. “You and Merlin seemed to be having an almost-civil conversation earlier.”

Arthur hums, eyes trailing down Merlin’s chest to his tight jeans. “He still thinks I’m an uncultured brute.”

“He’s very intelligent.”

Arthur doesn’t respond to her barb, sipping his wine instead and rolling his eyes. He hasn’t quite figured out how to get Merlin to forgive him, or if it’s even possible. Perhaps if he just got Merlin alone, but then Arthur would only be thinking of the things they could do alone. He’d get Merlin’s jumper off, that was for sure.

“Heard from Cenred lately?” Arthur asks finally, pulling his thoughts back to somewhere respectable and looking away from Merlin when Merlin glances his way.

“Hardly,” Morgana scoffs, playing idly with the silver bracelet on her wrist. “If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t phone.”

“You never did say what it was this time.”

Arthur honestly can’t keep track of the Morgana-Cenred break-ups and their reasons. They seem to happen every other month. He just assumes that when Cenred doesn’t show up at the dinner parties that they’ve broken it off for one reason or another.

Not that Arthur particularly likes Cenred in the first place, and Uther detests him. He’s said as much to Arthur many times. That may be why Morgana likes him as much as she does, Arthur doesn’t know. Aside from his general grungy appearance (Arthur’s not sure he showers regularly), Cenred has a mind for booze, women, and the loud music he plays at his club.

“The usual,” she says dismissively. “He seems to think running a club is an excuse to chat up every woman who walks through the door.”

“Well, if he’s cheated on you, I feel sorry for the man.”

Her mouth quirks slightly at his words and she brushes back her hair. “No cheating as far as I know, but this was his last chance.”

Somehow, Arthur doubts it, but he doesn’t say as much. Morgana would castrate him if he did.

“So if you are at all interested in Merlin,” she goes on, switching subjects, “I would certainly stop discussing art and talk about a mutual interest.”

“Such as?” Arthur knows he shouldn’t admit it to Morgana that he is interested in Merlin, but it’s too late now and she would find out anyway. 

“Why don’t you ask him out and you’ll find one, I’m sure, or else you can just shag and get it out of your system. You won’t even have to interrupt your precious work for him.”

Morgana is completely unhelpful, and Arthur shakes his head as she leaves to refill her glass. 

The evening is winding down and Arthur has had too many glasses of wine considering he has more work waiting for him at home.

The flat feels overly warm as he pulls on his coat. At the door, Leon says goodbye to Morgana with a kiss on her cheek, and Lance and Gwen are having a private moment. Merlin stands awkwardly at the wall, staring up at a photograph.

“Going home alone?” Arthur asks, sidling up to him.

“Leon’s straight and Morgana’s a woman, so,” Merlin says with a shrug, turning to him. He doesn’t look as though he’s had too much wine like Arthur.

Arthur smiles. “I’d offer you to come home with me, but you still think I’m prat, right?”

Merlin’s eyebrows go up and he doesn’t reply, but Arthur thinks he sees him suppress a smile.

“I can change your mind, you know,” Arthur says.

“Oh really?”

“Really.” Arthur moves a step closer. He’s too close for anyone sober, but Merlin doesn’t move back. “All you have to do is go out with me.”

For a moment, Merlin pauses, turning back to the photo and squinting at it. It’s not a particularly interesting photograph - just him, Morgana, and Gwen at some function a few years ago. 

“No,” he says finally, turning back to Arthur.

“No?”

“No.”

Arthur stares for a moment, the copious amount of wine he’s consumed rushing to his brain as he tries to come up with something clever to say to change Merlin’s mind.

“Merlin, you ready?” Lance steps up before he can figure anything out.

“Yeah.” Merlin flashes Lance a smile as Arthur just stands there, lost for words. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

Arthur turns as Merlin pushes past him towards the door. He has to say something, but anything he thinks of is stupid, and instead, he lets Merlin leave, staring as the door closes behind him.

Gwen comes over, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “At least you apologized. Besides, like you said. You don’t have time for a relationship.”

Arthur hates when she’s right.

*

Drowning in depositions is not exactly how Arthur likes to spend his weekends, but it’s a necessary evil to prepare for the upcoming court cases. Saturday evening finds him in his living room, papers and files spread over every surface around him. He wishes he had a personal assistant to help him with all of this, but Uther insists it’s character-building to do it alone, plus Uther doesn’t trust anyone outside the firm to view information on court cases.

A knock on the door draws Arthur’s attentions away from his highlighting of every recorded phone conversation held on September third. He’s going to ignore it, but it comes again and he groans, dragging himself up.

Yanking open the door, fully prepared to tell his annoying neighbour that he doesn’t want to volunteer for the park clean-up for the tenth time that month, he finds Gwen instead. She holds up a bag of takeout and smiles.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and she smiles. 

“Thought you might be hungry. I know how you like to work on the weekends.”

“I don’t like to,” Arthur points out, but he steps back and lets her inside. “And you don’t have to do this. I’m capable of feeding myself.”

“Yes,” she agrees, setting down the food on the counter and pulling plates out of the cupboard. “But frozen foods does not a meal make.”

Arthur doesn’t bother arguing with her, not when she pulls out his favorite Thai food and begins spooning it onto plates.

She glances over at his piles of work on the coffee table. “Big case?”

“Client is suing her employer for wrongful termination.”

“Sexual harassment?” Gwen asks knowingly, handing Arthur a plate loaded with food.

“Unfortunately seems to be a trend.”

Gwen joins him on the sofa a minute later, picking at her food, and Arthur pauses. He sets his plate down.

“Why are you really here?”

“I told you. Without me, you’d never have a decent meal. You wouldn’t even remember to breathe if someone didn’t talk to you.”

“Gwen.” He can tell something is wrong, especially as she sets her fork down with a clink and sighs.

“Lance and I have been talking about moving in together.”

“That’s great.”

She nods, but she doesn’t look too happy. “It is. I’m just worried.”

“About Lance?” Arthur laughs. “Lance is probably the most upstanding gentleman I’ve ever met outside of Cambridge.”

“Not Lance. Morgana.”

“What about her?”

Gwen twines a curl around her finger, biting her lip and then looking at Arthur. “I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Morgana is your best mate. She’ll understand you wanting to move out.”

Gwen sighs, turning more to face Arthur on the sofa. “I’m not worried about that. It’s just, with the Cenred thing, I just—”

“What Cenred thing?”

Aside from them breaking up for the millionth time, Arthur hasn’t heard anything else. Then again, Morgana is not always forthcoming about her love life. A family trait, perhaps. 

From the way Gwen frowns, Arthur is pretty sure he doesn’t know the whole story this time.

“She didn’t tell you,” she says finally, looking suddenly guilty. “Well, I don’t think it’s my place.”

“Gwen, come on,” he says. “You can’t say something like that and not follow through. What happened with Cenred?”

For a second, Gwen hesitates and then she sighs. “He proposed.”

Of all the things Arthur expected, that hadn’t been one. “What? Proposed? When?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“When they broke up.”

“Well, before that,” Gwen admits. “Morgana was upset about the women in the club, and she told him she didn’t think he could be faithful to her, so the next day, he went out, bought a ring, and proposed to her in the middle of the club.”

Arthur can’t believe he hasn’t heard any of this before now. Where has he been for the past few weeks? Buried under briefs, that’s where.

He shakes his head as he tries to process it. “I’m guessing she didn’t accept.”

“Well, no. It just seemed to get worse from there. She thinks he did it to end the argument, which realistically, that was probably part of it knowing Cenred, but I think she’s also afraid.”

Arthur laughs, reaching for his plate and digging in finally. “Morgana’s not afraid of anything.”

Gwen shoots him a look that makes Arthur pause, wondering what he’s said this time.

“She doesn’t get close to many people, as you may have noticed, probably because she’s afraid of them leaving. Uther didn’t exactly set the best example.”

She’s got a point there, Arthur has to agree. His father isn’t known for being the caring, loving person that Morgana wanted, especially after it had come to light that he was her father back in secondary.

“She’s afraid Cenred would leave?” Arthur isn’t sure Cenred would since he’s got a thing for powerful women. That’s probably why he was drawn to Morgana in the first place.

“She doesn’t want to risk it,” Gwen points out. “So she’s pushed him away first.”

“Alright, fine,” Arthur agrees, “but that doesn’t mean you should have to put your life on hold for hers. She’ll make it through.”

Gwen frowns, and Arthur knows she wants to do the right thing. Gwen would sacrifice herself for any one of their friends. 

“I want her to be okay.”

“She will be,” he assures her. “She’s strong. She’s a Pendragon.”

“Yes, I guess it does run in the family,” Gwen says finally, shooting Arthur a look as Arthur shovels a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“What does?”

“Pushing people away. You did a fantastic job with Merlin.”

“That wasn’t intentional,” Arthur argues. “I apologized. He still doesn’t like me. He won’t go out with me.”

Gwen’s face lights up and Arthur immediately knows it was the wrong thing to say. He grimaces around his fork.

“You asked him out?”

“He said no. Good thing too, since I don’t have time anyway.”

“You have to try again,” Gwen says eagerly, scooting forward and crumpling some of the papers on the sofa.

“I don’t have his number,” Arthur says, knowing full well what Gwen is going to say in response, and he hides his smirk as she digs out a pen from her purse and grabs his hand.

“There,” she says, satisfied. She picks up her plate again. “No excuses.”

“Is this your evil plan?” he asks, glancing at the number scrawled across his palm. “Make everyone around you happy?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” she asks with a smile and then sighs. “We just need to work on you and Morgana first.”

“You worry about yourself,” Arthur tells her. “As for me, I’ve got plenty of things to keep me busy.”

“Life doesn’t revolve around work.”

Arthur doesn’t have the heart to tell her that without work, he’d be at a loss of what to do, so he just turns on the television and resumes his dinner.

*

Arthur recopies the number down on the notepad by the coffeemaker but there it languishes for the next few days while he sits in many meetings in stuffy boardrooms, reading through depositions and watching Uther terrify his assistant as he demands different files every five minutes.

Arthur does his best not to do that to Freya, although she’s always been a little shaky whenever Uther is around.

It isn’t until the weekend that Arthur finds time to himself. Staring in fridge, he can’t find a single edible thing, and he shuts it with the intention of ordering takeout. His eyes fall on the pad of paper, though, as he digs out his mobile.

For a second, he isn’t sure he wants to call. After all, the odds that Merlin will just turn him down again are fairly high, but then he thinks of Merlin’s smile, and he finds himself dialing the number before he realizes.

“’Lo?” Merlin answers a moment later, and Arthur leans back against the counter, crossing his ankles.

“Come have dinner with me,” he says.

There’s a pause. “Who is this?”

“The art snob. What are you doing tonight?”

“How’d you get my number?”

Arthur ignores him, pushing his hair off his forehead. “There’s nothing in my cupboards. I was thinking Indian food.”

Merlin pauses again, and Arthur waits. It’s a long-shot, he knows, Merlin agreeing to go out with him when he’s already turned him down once and probably finds his persistence annoying, but Arthur has never been one to give up on the things he wants.

“What makes you think I would agree to that?” Merlin asks finally, and Arthur moves over to the couch, flopping down and gazing out the darkened window.

“I figure it’s late, you might be hungry, and I’m paying.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, being a corporate hot-shot and all, but I do actually make money painting.”

“Sure, but no one refuses a free meal.”

He wishes he could see Merlin as he’s pretty sure Merlin may actually smile at that.

“If I say no, are you going to stop bothering me?”

Arthur leans back on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Depends if you mean it or not.”

“If I did?”

“Then of course, yes, I would,” Arthur says seriously. He’s not the type to keep pushing where it’s a lost cause. He does have boundaries, and he’s very aware of the legal ramifications of not backing off when someone says no.

For a moment, Merlin says nothing, and Arthur worries he might actually say no.

“Why are you calling anyway?”

“I’m hungry.”

“No. I mean, you made a pretty bad first impression, and as far as I know, there have been no indications that I’m at all interested in you, so why are you trying so hard?”

“Because I’m interested in you,” Arthur replies bluntly. There’s no use skating around the truth. Not if it’ll get Merlin to go out with him sooner. 

“Why’s that?”

Arthur laughs, cradling the phone against his shoulder. “Gwen and Morgana have this ridiculous notion that I need to get out more, and you, you have a beautiful smile. Sure your clothing choices leave something to be desired but I wouldn’t mind getting underneath them.”

“Awfully cocky, aren’t you?” Merlin asks skeptically.

“I do win most of my cases. I bet I could talk you out of your jeans.”

Merlin snorts into the phone, more of a scoff than anything. “You’ve yet to talk me into anything.”

“Come to dinner and we’ll see.”

Arthur is hungry, but the food isn’t nearly as important as getting Merlin to say yes. As he thinks about it, he realizes he doesn’t even know where Merlin lives. He could live all the way across the city. 

“You may be a master litigator,” Merlin says, “but it won’t work on me, Arthur Pendragon.”

“You’re still on the phone, aren’t you?” Arthur points out, and the pause that follows proves his point. He smirks. “Fine. Don’t come to dinner with me, but I’m going to call you again in a few days. We’ll see if you’ve changed your mind then.”

“You—” Merlin starts to say, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Have a wonderful evening, Merlin,” he practically purrs into the receiver and then hangs up. It isn’t dinner, but it isn’t a no either. He feels pretty good about the whole situation as he digs out the takeout menu and places his order a few minutes later.

*

A squeak at the door alerts Arthur to Freya’s presence. She’s quieter than a mouse. Glancing up from the deposition he has been trying to get through for the past half hour, Arthur is almost glad for the interruption, although from Freya’s expression, he takes it that it’s not a good interruption and probably has something to do with Uther.

“Yes, what is it?” he asks, flipping the papers back into place.

“Mr. Pendragon just called,” she says, the words jumbling together as she mumbles, as though trying to speak as quietly as possible. “He wants the Kingston files on his desk by the end of the night.”

“The end of the night?” Arthur repeats, spreading his arms at the file-strewn desk. There are too many to go through in one night, too many things to highlight and organize and put together.

Freya twines her hands together, biting her lip nervously. “He insisted.”

Arthur is sure he did. That’s probably what’s making Freya shake like a frightened puppy. 

Sighing, Arthur pushes a hand through his hair and glances up at Freya.

“You didn’t have any plans tonight, did you?”

Freya meets his gaze, and Arthur feels bad already making her stay, but there’s no way he can do this alone, not by the end of the night. 

“I’ll order the takeout,” she says finally, and Arthur breathes out in relief.

The firm has underlings to do this kind of work, but Uther never lets Arthur slide. When Arthur is a senior partner, then he can let lesser attorneys do the work. Until then, Arthur has a long night ahead of him.

There’s a nagging feeling that he’s forgetting something, but as Freya returns with another stack of manila folders, he figures it’s not as important as this.

“I ordered Chinese from the place down the road,” she says, pulling up the other chair and plucking out a highlighter.

“Someday,” Arthur says, picking up a file and flipping it open, “you will get out of here at a decent hour.”

Freya glances up and then smiles. “Someday you will too.”

Arthur doesn’t think that day will come any time soon, but he nods anyway and grabs a pen. 

“We should get started.”

*

Arthur doesn’t remember his promise to call Merlin until three days past when he’d planned on doing it. In fact, he doesn’t even remember until he’s sitting in his living room with briefs filling the coffee table and he gets up to grab a drink from the fridge. As he shuts the door, the paper with Merlin’s number on it flutters to the ground, dislodged from the magnet Arthur had used to stick it there.

Staring down, he grimaces. “Fuck.” If he is trying to get Merlin to forgive him, forgetting to call certainly isn’t the best way.

For a moment, he wonders if it’s even worth it to call. Won’t Merlin just be annoyed at him? The first promise he ever makes him and he doesn’t even keep it. Arthur flops down on the sofa and pulls out his phone. Merlin hasn’t called him, but he hadn’t expected him to.

It’s already getting dark out, the sun setting earlier and earlier these days. His workload is never ending, spread out before him, but he can’t remember the last time he actually left his apartment after coming home from work. Usually, he orders in and spends the rest of the night going through documents. It isn’t a particularly thrilling life, but he has to do it.

He punches the call button before he has time to talk himself out of it, though, and listens to the phone ring on the other end.

“And here I thought I was rid of you,” comes Merlin’s voice through the speaker, almost a sigh in his words.

Arthur can’t help smiling despite himself. “Were you disappointed when I didn’t call? How many nights were wasted waiting for the phone to ring?”

Merlin scoffs. “If you think you’re worthy of even an hour of waiting, you’re delusional.”

“So I’m not the most punctual,” Arthur allows, relaxing back on the sofa. “But I did call.”

“Yes, you did.”

It’s as good as Arthur figures he’s going to get with Merlin. “Have you given anymore thought to dinner?”

“Well, I do eat it almost every night,” Merlin replies, not giving any hints as to what he’s thinking. Arthur wishes he could see his face, get more clues, but there’s nothing in Merlin’s voice to betray him.

“I haven’t been out of my flat except for work in almost a week,” Arthur says, “and it’s terribly depressing to eat alone, as I’m sure you’re aware of—”

“Is that a veiled reference to the fact that you think artists live in black holes and only emerge to pander their wares on the street?”

“I just meant that you’re obviously single,” Arthur goes on, “if not from your inability to hold a civil conversation than from the fact that you’re still talking to me.” 

“I could have a boyfriend,” Merlin says, and Arthur laughs.

“But you don’t.” Obviously. Gwen wouldn’t have set them up in the first place if he did. “So you’re free to get some dinner with me.”

There’s a pause, a long pause. It’s so long that it actually makes Arthur nervous. He hasn’t made the best impression on Merlin, probably, and it’s a shot in the dark that Merlin will ever forgive him for his grand faux-pas at the gallery.

“Merlin?” he asks when he starts thinking maybe Merlin hung up on him, but then he hears Merlin’s sigh on the other end.

“I don’t want you to think that just because you’re good-looking, and rich, and charming, that you can get anything you want,” he says, and Arthur can’t help the smile that twitches his lips, hope manifesting somewhere deep inside his chest.

“Is that a yes?”

‘No, it’s not a yes,” Merlin says, although Arthur swears he can hear a smile in his voice.

“Then what is it?”

Merlin hesitates. “It’s an I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Are you? Or are you just saying that so you don’t say yes?”

“Could you get any more conceited?” Merlin pauses. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Arthur grins. “When won’t you be busy?” It seems like such a stupid question to ask as he gazes at all his work before him. He’s the busy one. He barely has time to eat let alone go out with someone, but here he is asking Merlin out for the third time.

“I don’t know.”

Arthur knows that answer. He’s said it, in that exact tone, a thousand times. It means something along the lines of Merlin is actually not busy at all - he just doesn’t want to go out with Arthur at the moment. This is the moment where he either loses Merlin forever or he finds a way to win him over.

“It doesn’t have to be dinner,” he says, changing tact. A new idea comes to mind as he tries to think. “In fact, I know somewhere we could go. There’s this club.”

“A club?” Merlin deadpans. Arthur can practically see the unimpressed arch to his eyebrow. “Would they even let you in in your Armani? Or is it one of those clubs where a glass of champagne costs more than a normal worker’s salary?”

“For being so offended when I judged you, you sure have plenty of preconceived notions about me.”

There’s another pause and then Merlin makes a noise. “So what kind of club is this?”

Arthur smiled. “Put on your best skinny jeans and meet me at the Tottenham Court stop in half an hour.”

“I said I was busy.”

“It’s a Friday night and you’re spending it on the phone with me. A few hours away from your laptop won’t kill you.”

“What if I just didn’t come?” Merlin asks, and Arthur has to pause.

“I’d be disappointed,” he replies honestly. “But I think you will come, if only for the chance to see me out of a suit. Half an hour, Merlin.” He hangs up and tosses his phone away. Glancing at the clock, he’s got plenty of time. He only said the tube stop because he doubts Merlin has the money for a cab fare. It will only take him ten minutes to get there. He should get changed, though, and he drags himself up, leaving his mountain of work behind.

*

Arthur is on time for once as he shows up outside the tube station. The weather has turned chilly in the past few hours since he left the office, and he zips up his jacket as he waits for Merlin to show. He still has no idea where Merlin even lives, so he could be coming from anywhere. Half an hour might not have even been enough time, but Merlin hadn’t protested. Then again, Arthur hadn’t given him much chance to. Arthur shakes away the reservations that Merlin won’t show, though. 

It isn’t that late out, but there are plenty of people milling around the streets. Some are already sloshed, stumbling around, girls hanging onto their shoes and guys shouting obscenities at passing cars. Arthur ignores them and shivers at the gust of cold air that sweeps past.

“I must be insane,” someone says from behind him, and Arthur turns to find Merlin bundled up in a faded leather jacket, a blue scarf twined around his neck, and the same black jeans from the show on.

“Can’t argue with that,” Arthur agrees, though he suppresses his smile as Merlin makes a face. 

“So where is this club?” He shivers too, the wind blowing his hair across his eyes. Merlin shoves it out of his face with no finesse and waits for Arthur to answer.

“This way,” Arthur says, reaching out a hand to guide Merlin down the street, but Merlin steps out from his touch with a pointed look. Arthur ignores it. “I think you’ll like it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It has a unique take on what a club should be.” That’s one way of putting it, Arthur thinks as they walk. He’s never particularly grown to like Cenred’s club - the clash of colours has always been a bit too much, and the way the music varies from nineties pop to electronica-club crap makes his head hurt. He figures it’s about time he paid Cenred a visit, though, and Merlin actually agreed to go with him, so it’s a start.

The club is down a darkened street and Arthur leads the way. Merlin says nothing, glancing around as though there might be a murderer hidden in the shadows. Cenred’s club, Essetir, looks like nothing more than a whole in the wall from the outside, but the long line waiting to get in indicates otherwise.

Arthur bypasses the line, ignoring Merlin’s raised eyebrows. He nods at the doorman, a large looming figure named Percy, who’s probably one of the nicest guys Arthur knows outside of Lance.

“Arthur, good to see you,” Percy says, already reaching to open the velvet rope barring the line from entering. 

“Evening, Perce,” Arthur replies, reaching back for Merlin and guiding him in front of him with a hand in the small of his back. He ignores the look Merlin throws him and follows him in.

“You know the doorman?” Merlin asks, twisting out of Arthur’s reach as they enter. They pass through a dark hallway before emerging into the main area of the club.

Essetir is massive inside, every wall splattered with different colors, and the neon lights overhead bounce off them. It usually makes Arthur a little sick, but his eyes are on Merlin tonight. The dance floor is packed to the gills with people, most of them well-pissed already, and Arthur leads Merlin to the corner booth he usually takes when it’s Morgana and everyone else. It’s empty, almost as though waiting for her to show up.

“I know a lot about this place,” he responds finally to Merlin’s question once they sit down and he motions for a passing server. The girl that approaches them tosses back her perfectly-coiffed blond hair, her uniform too tight over her chest, but Cenred decrees it that way.

“Arthur,” she greets him, a tight smile on her bright red lips. “Surprised to see you here.” She barely spares a glance at Merlin. 

Arthur ignores the implication. “We’ll just have a round, Viv,” he says, not watching her saunter away with a seductive swing to her hips. Cenred hires them all the same. Arthur can definitely see why Morgana broke up with him so many times.

“What was that?” Merlin asks, setting his elbows on the table. He’s taken off his jacket to reveal an old purple tee-shirt. To Arthur’s surprise, he has some pretty decent biceps and he finds himself admiring the curve of his muscles for a second until Merlin clears his throat. He catches Merlin’s eye and the knowing glint there.

“Vivian,” he says by way of explanation, but he knows that won’t be enough to satisfy Merlin’s curiosity.

“Ex-girlfriend?”

“No,” Arthur says quickly. “Hardly.”

“She didn’t seem happy to see you,” Merlin points out. “Should I take that as an omen?”

Arthur is pretty sure he knows why Vivian isn’t happy to see him, and it has less to do with him and more to do with how Cenred gets whenever he and Morgana break up. Where Morgana clams up and drinks too much wine, Cenred goes overboard with other girls and tormenting his servers with his temper.

“No,” he says, flashing Merlin a smile. “Although I feel I should be honest about why I chose this particular club tonight.”

“It’s the only one that’ll let you in?”

Arthur huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s Cenred’s club.” On Merlin’s confused look, he adds, “Morgana’s ex.”

Merlin sits back as Vivian returns with two pints and sets them down. She glances between them for a second before putting her hands on her hips.

“I hope you’ve come to fix this, Pendragon,” she says. “I can’t go another day with Cenred storming around like someone ran over his puppy. He’s had five girls this week drinking for free. Where are my tips, Pendragon, huh?”

“It’s not my fault,” Arthur tries to argue, but Vivian pokes him in the chest, hard.

“I don’t care whose fault it is,” she snaps. “Somebody better fix it fast.”

She swings away before Arthur can respond. He looks back at Merlin to find him sitting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“Did you bring me here so you could show me how big and strong you are by punching out Morgana’s ex for breaking her heart?”

“Where’d you get that idea?” Arthur asks, although it’s not such a bad idea, he thinks. Maybe a good fist to the face is what Cenred needs. He actually contemplates it for a moment but then shakes the idea away. It would be stupid and reckless and not really the point.

“Everything you’ve done since I met you has been trying to impress someone. Mainly me.”

Arthur scoffs. “I don’t need to impress anyone.” He resents the accusation that he needs to prove himself to Merlin. 

Merlin’s frown tells Arthur that even if was trying to impress him, he’s not doing a good job. Something in Arthur’s stomach sinks as he realizes this is not going at all the way he’d planned. Cenred’s club had just been an afterthought, a kill two birds with one stone kind of thing - get Merlin to go out with him and find out what’s going on with Morgana and Cenred. He has never considered himself much of the “protective brother” type, but his natural curiosity always gets the best of him.

Before he can rectify the situation, however, Cenred swings over, looking a little tipsy on his feet already, and the blond girl next to him helps keep him upright.

“Arthur,” Cenred greets him, not looking entirely pleased to see him either. “I knew you would come. So chivalrous of you to attempt to correct your sister’s mistake, but fortunately, I have moved on.” He turns to the girl next to him and brushes a hand through her hair. 

“I wouldn’t call it a mistake,” Arthur mutters, though Cenred catches it and glares.

“I suppose you think she’d be better off with an uptight corporate prick like yourself,” he says, words slurring together slightly. “We all know how that works out for you.” He shoots Arthur a sneer. 

“I don’t know why Morgana likes you,” Arthur says, too annoyed to try for pleasantries at this stage. “You should count yourself lucky that she even speaks to you. If you want to marry her, maybe you should try it when you’re not having a row in the middle of your club.”

“Percy!” Cenred shouts over the music that makes Arthur’s head hurt. Arthur catches sight of Percy making his way across the floor.

“No need. We’ll go,” Arthur says, standing, and Merlin does too, although he hasn’t said anything for a while now. Cenred glares at him until he steps out the door and Percy shoots him a sympathetic smile.

“Prick,” Arthur mutters as they get outside, turning to the door. Merlin hesitates behind him, arms crossed and a hip cocked to the side.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Arthur actually grimaces. Not his finest moment, he’ll admit. “Yeah, not exactly the best date.”

Merlin almost laughs and then bites down on his lip, no humor in his eyes. “This wasn’t a date.”

“Yes, it was,” Arthur insists. He went through all the motions. Merlin had said yes after all.

“A date requires planning,” Merlin says, speaking slowly as though explaining something to a child. Arthur’s eyebrow goes up. “It requires forethought, intention, thinking of the other person and what they might enjoy.”

Arthur stares, feeling a chill of wind against the back of his neck as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk. He asked Merlin out. How much more could he possibly want? Arthur isn’t the type to buy flowers and pop by with chocolates simply because he feels like it. He isn’t the ridiculously romantic stereotype that he sees in cheesy couples films. If that’s what Merlin wants, he isn’t going to get it in Arthur.

“We went out,” Arthur points out. “We’re out. That’s a date.”

“We went to your sister’s ex-boyfriends club so you could, I don’t know, be the knight in shining armor for someone who didn’t ask for it. Did it ever occur to you that I don’t go to clubs?”

Arthur can’t help but feel annoyed. It had taken quite a bit of effort to even get Merlin to agree to this and now he’s complaining that he hadn’t thought enough about it.

“Yes, actually, it did,” he says, frowning at Merlin in his jacket that can’t possibly keep out this vicious wind. “It occurred to me that you spend far too much time inhaling paint fumes and perhaps that’s why you’re so set against me.”

Merlin looks insulted and drops his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets instead. The edges of his knuckles are red and rough from the cold. “It couldn’t possibly be because you’re a self-centered, self-righteous prat at all. Lance tried to tell me you were a good guy, but I’m having trouble seeing it.”

“Then why’d you come tonight?” Arthur asks, squaring his shoulders. “Why’d you even bother?” He’s going to have a word with Lance. He is just as bad as Gwen and Morgana, if not worse. Arthur doesn’t need anyone talking him up, especially not if this is the result.

Merlin’s cheeks are red, probably from the cold, but Arthur thinks it might be from how angry he is with Arthur at this very moment. 

“I like to think that everyone deserves a second chance,” Merlin says, glaring at Arthur and taking a step past him finally. “But I’m beginning to think I’m wrong.”

“That’s sorted then,” Arthur scoffs. “I’m just trying to do something nice for my sister and I thought you’d want to come along and you’re getting all out of sorts because of it. Typical artist attitude.”

“Excuse me?” Merlin asks, though it’s obvious he doesn’t need Arthur to repeat a word. He ruffles himself, like a bird getting ready to fly, and his eyes narrow. “If that’s how you feel, Arthur Pendragon, then I suppose it’s my time to bow out and let another artist get trampled by your opinions.”

Merlin turns on his heel and strides out of sight down the dark street before Arthur can even begin to comprehend what’s happened. When he does finally turn to watch Merlin go, a trickle of dread works its way into his stomach.

“Fuck!” he curses loudly. He’s done it again.

*

The only solution, Arthur decides a few days later after staring at his phone too long, willing it to ring with Merlin’s name on the screen (although he knows without a doubt that Merlin will probably never talk to him again), is to forget about the whole thing. He should stick with his first instinct and keep work as his only love. It’s worked for him so far.

On the bright side, neither Lance nor Gwen have called to berate him for his treatment of Merlin. Possibly that means Merlin hasn’t told them yet or else they know that Arthur will have beaten himself up enough over it. He isn’t sure there is anything he can say to make up for it this time, and there’s a good chance that he’s screwed things up with Merlin for good.

He’s better off anyway, he tells himself firmly as he sits in his living room, another weekend of reading briefs and organizing files, a task that someone else surely should be doing but that Uther insisted Arthur do to get the best grip on the case. He doesn’t have time for boyfriends and melodrama around every corner. 

His phone rings as he thinks it and he glances at the screen, only vaguely acknowledging the fact that he hopes it’s Merlin. Morgana’s name is there, though, and he sighs.

“Hello?”

“Don’t you _hello_ me,” Morgana snaps, words already vicious and it isn’t even ten in the morning. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry?” he asks, more confused than anything. There are many reasons Morgana might be upset but he hasn’t done anything that he can remember.

“Going to see Cenred!” she practically shrieks, and Arthur holds the phone from his ear as he grimaces. Of course Morgana would have found out about that.

“Oh,” he says, still holding the phone from his ear in case she decides to scream again. “I can’t really talk right now, Morgana. Got lots of work to do. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t you dare, Arthur!” Morgana yells, but Arthur hangs up and drops the phone.

Shit. Of course she found out, and of course she isn’t happy. Had Merlin told her? No. That’s stupid. She must have found out some other way. She has her spies everywhere.

Arthur tries to refocus on his work, but he doesn’t count on the fact that Morgana knows where he lives, and when a knock comes ten minutes later, he frowns and gets up to answer.

“How could you?” Morgana demands the moment Arthur cracks open the door. He isn’t fast enough to shut her out, though, and she storms into his flat. Resigned, Arthur shuts the door behind her.

“Lovely to see you too, Morgana,” he says, moving back to the sofa and sitting while Morgana stands, hands on her hips, before him. A fire rages behind her eyes as she glares at him.

“What exactly where you thinking?” she asks with a demanding gesture. “I know, you weren’t! You were just being Arthur, charging in without a plan, making a complete ass of yourself and only making things worse.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. “I only talked to him. I didn’t even punch him,” Arthur points out, although it had been a tempting idea. 

“Who said you could talk to him?” Morgana snaps. “Who says I want you anywhere near him?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Personally, Morgana, I don’t understand what it is you see in Cenred. He’s uncultured; he’s unintelligent. He’s always surrounded by a harem of women. How can you even stand it?”

Morgana moves over to the sofa and sits down with a heavy sigh. Her black hair falls in a curtain over her shoulder as she leans forward, a hand pressed to her forehead. At length, she turns to face him, seemingly calmer now.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she says finally, and Arthur shoots her a look.

“I understand the desire to rub someone like Cenred in father’s face,” he says. “What I don’t understand is why you’ve stayed with him so long. Teenage rebellion is supposed to end.”

“Considering your last meaningful relationship lasted all of two months, I wouldn’t expect you to know the answer.” She tosses back her hair and sits up. 

Arthur clears his throat and reaches for a brief, but he isn’t reading it as he pauses. “If you care so much about him, why did you turn down his proposal? Uther would gone berserk at the news.”

Morgana gasps, staring at him, but it turns to anger a second later. “Gwen!” she curses. “She told you, didn’t she?”

Arthur tosses the file away. “You know Gwen thinks we push everyone away?”

Morgana huffs, still looking annoyed. “She’s said as much. Look at our example, though. Uther wouldn’t even let me date until I’d left the house, and you’ve got so many issues, it’s laughable.”

Arthur takes some offense at that. He doesn’t argue with her, though, because she’ll just bring up his mother and her death, and the way Uther never seemed to get over it, instead putting all his hopes and dreams (and disappointments) into Arthur instead. 

“I just have a lot of work to do,” he says instead, ignoring her rolled eyes. “It isn’t easy being Uther Pendragon’s son, as you well know.”

“I’m just the illegitimate daughter so I don’t get the same privileges,” Morgana spits back. “Speaking of pushing people away, did I hear correctly that a certain dark-haired bloke accompanied you to your ill-thought-out ambush of Cenred?”

Where does she get her information? Arthur must find out and pay them off.

“That’s none of your business,” he says instead of confirming, but it might as well be a confirmation from the way Morgana smirks. 

“Oh, yes, it is, especially after you’ve seen fit to stick your nose in my business.” 

Sighing, Arthur leans against the back of the sofa. There’s no use keeping things from Morgana. She’ll get it out of him one way or another. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says simply, and there really isn’t after what happened that night. If Merlin ever speaks to him again, it’ll be a miracle. “I’m too busy to bother with uptight artists.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana drawls, shaking her head at him despite how he scowls.

“What?” he can’t help asking petulantly as she continues to shake her head.

“You did something, didn’t you? Really, I’m not surprised. You could never show your feelings very well. What was it you said to Gilli when you broke up?”

“Morgana—”

“I remember: ‘You’re too naive for a serious relationship. I need someone with a good head on his shoulders.’”

Arthur groans. Breaking up is generally not his strongest suit, especially when the break-ups come after his boyfriends meet his father and are subjected to the Uther measuring system (which most of them fail to measure up to). The words never come out right. It wasn’t as if Gilli had been everything he’d wanted in a relationship - the hours of silence had sometimes been unbearable. Still, he could have said it a bit nicer.

“You didn’t even like Gilli.”

“Of course not. He was a tremendous bore,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “My point is that if you’ve done something to fuck up your relationship with Merlin again, you’re unlikely to get another chance. Merlin is a very nice man and he deserves far better.”

“You’re the one who set me up!”

Morgana shrugs. “It was Gwen’s idea. She has some ridiculous notion that everyone deserves to be as happy as her and Lance. Revolting, isn’t it?” She makes a face, but Arthur knows that somewhere underneath, she wishes it were true. 

“Yes, revolting,” Arthur murmurs in agreement, though he sighs. It’s entirely his fault that Merlin refuses to speak to him. He hadn’t thought enough. He hadn’t tried hard enough, and now, now it’s too late.

For a moment, neither say anything and then Morgana sets her hands on her knees and stands. “Do you have any wine?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Scotch then,” she replies, rummaging in his cupboards and coming up with a bottle. She pulls two glasses down and fills them up. She hands one to Arthur and sets the bottle on top of a towering pile of manila folders. “To love,” she says, clinking her glass with Arthur’s.

He has so much work to do, but Arthur drinks anyway. It’s a fitting toast.

*

The bottle is empty and they’ve moved on to the rum. Somewhere around three in the afternoon, Arthur orders take-out and he and Morgana spend the next few hours in a comfortable, drunk silence. By the time night has fallen, he’s far too drunk to do anything other than lay on the floor. It isn’t particularly comfortable, but Morgana has commandeered the couch and is flipping through channels on the telly until it makes Arthur dizzy.

The knock on the door barely registers in Arthur’s mind, but Morgana calls, “Come in!”

It could be anyone - a burglar, the police, his father - but Arthur doesn’t even lift his head when the door opens and Gwen steps inside.

“Morgana?” she asks, untwining her scarf and shutting the door behind her. “Are you-Arthur? Are you alright?” She hurries over to where Arthur is splayed out on the floor. Next to him, his glass is woefully empty. Gwen kneels down and pulls him up. “Did you fall?”

“Gwen,” he says, and she recoils at his breath. “My lovely Gwen.”

“How much did you drink?” she asks, eyes traveling over the empty bottles. “Were you drinking all day?”

Arthur doesn’t bother to answer. “Dearest Gwen,” he says instead, reaching up to brush a hand against her curls. They are springy in his grip and he laughs to himself. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Gwen pulls him into a sitting position and frowns. There’s no reason to, Arthur thinks, and his stomach sloshes unpleasantly. The only solution to this is more alcohol. 

“She’s come to rescue us, dear brother,” Morgana slurs from the couch where she lays with an arm thrown over her eyes. “As she always must. Gwen, where is Lance?”

“He’s…” Gwen hesitates, looking between them both. “Downstairs. I came by to see if you wanted to come to a party.”

“What kind of party?” Arthur asks, looking around for the rum, but alas, it’s empty as well. He shakes the bottle, disappointed and ignoring Gwen’s disapproving furrow to her brows. 

“It’s a birthday party,” she says slowly. “For Merlin.”

“Merlin!” Arthur says loudly and struggles to get himself up, but his limbs don’t appear to be working and he stumbles over the coffee table, bruising his shin on the way. “Yes, I must talk to him.” He tries to head to his bedroom to change, but Gwen’s hand on his arm stops him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she says seriously, and Arthur frowns. Merlin is his business, after all.

“Why? Because it was a terrible date and Merlin thinks I’m an elitist suit-wearing prat who never thinks of anyone but himself?”

Gwen eyes him, and it never strikes Arthur that Merlin hasn’t told her about their ruined attempt at a date. She doesn’t comment on it, though, and hauls him upright since his legs are having trouble keeping him there. 

“Because you are completely pissed,” she says, guiding him into the bedroom but not to change. Instead, she pushes him onto the bed and he falls face-first into the comforter. “I don’t know what happened with Merlin, but you’re not going to ruin his birthday. You stay here, drink some water, and I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

She shuts the door as she leaves, and Arthur rolls over. He only half-considers getting up and going after her, but in the end, he closes his eyes and barely opens them when she returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and a few pills. She brushes back his hair without a word and leaves again.

The front door shuts with a snap somewhere in the distance and Arthur rolls over. Wandering out to the living room, he finds Morgana still on the couch, asleep with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Gwen’s doing, no doubt. 

The rum bottle is still empty when he checks again, but he does find his mobile phone on the floor and scoops it up. For a second, he considers ringing Gwen to complain about her leaving him behind, but instead, his finger stops on Merlin’s name and he presses call.

It rings and rings, too many times, and Arthur waits impatiently as Merlin’s voicemail plays. 

“Merlin,” he drawls, moving back to his bedroom. “I hear it’s your birthday, and I’m sure I’m not the present you want, but I just thought I’d call and tell you that you have quite beautiful eyes, and a very nice ass as well. I know you think I’m a pompous, self-centered, self-righteous, self-something prick, and well, mostly you’d be right. Seems to be the uniting factor of all my exes.” He sinks onto his bed with a huff. The words spill out of him in a way that they never would if he were sober. “Maybe I’m not worthy of your forgiveness, but I think you should give me another chance to prove you wrong. Yes, I think you should. Gwen can give excellent reasons why, but I say, I’ll be a great shag and I think you would be too if we ever get past insulting each other. Happy birthday, Merlin.” He hangs up the phone and drops it on the floor as he sinks back into the bed.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and wills the sick feeling in his stomach away. Thank God tomorrow is Sunday.

*

Even by Monday, Arthur still regrets everything he did on Saturday. Freya shoots him a sympathetic look and brings him chamomile in place of his usual coffee. He barely grumbles a thank you as she leaves and instead stares at the wood grain on his desk.

He feels as though he’s been thrown in the wash and tumbled around, bruised and sick, bags under his eyes. Uther’s only comment that morning had been to ask if he planned on looking presentable for the briefing later on. All Arthur wants to do is go home and crawl into his bed and never come out.

“You look like someone ran over you.”

Arthur looks up to find Leon in the doorway. He groans at the folder in his hands.

“Don’t tell me that is another dossier about the suit.”

“Depositions from the other employees,” Leon replies, tossing it on Arthur’s desk and taking the other chair. “Seriously, mate, you look like shit. Good weekend?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Hardly.” Gathering his strength, he pulls the folder towards him. The last thing he wants to do is work. It will, on the other hand, keep him occupied and stop him from cringing whenever he thinks of the embarrassing message he left for Merlin the other night. Merlin hasn’t called, though, so odds are he didn’t even listen to the message and simply deleted it when he saw Arthur’s name. Arthur isn’t sure which situation makes him feel worse.

“I don’t suppose you’re up for drinks tonight then?” Leon asks, and Arthur shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be drinking for quite a while.”

Leon nods in understanding. “We’ve all been there. By the way, they moved the court date up two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks?” Arthur barks, staring at Leon. “That’s not enough time to get everything ready.”

Leon shrugs. “Uther says we should be done and ready to present. Morgause is getting restless to get her compensation from the suit. Besides, we all know Valiant deserves to be slammed on a charge like this. Sexual harassment in the workplace is a serious offense these days.”

Arthur holds up a hand to stop Leon. “You don’t need to lecture me. We all remember Mordred.”

A few years ago, an intern had attempted to slap Arthur with a harassment suit. It had only gotten as far as Uther paying him off, but it had left Arthur shaken. Who knows what would have happened if it had gone to the press? Of course, there’d been no truth to it, but Mordred, with his big blue eyes and innocent face, could have swayed anyone’s mind, especially an impressionable jury.

“Fine, two weeks,” Arthur says, gathering his papers together. If there are only two weeks left, he can’t waste any more time. “We’ll get it done. I hope you didn’t have any plans for the next two weekends.”

Leon frowns, and Arthur laughs. 

“Grab a seat, Leon,” he merely says and opens the dossier.

*

Elena’s smiles don’t even register as Arthur sits at his usual table by the window. Two weeks are all he has to get things in order for the hearing. His life would be so much easier if people could keep it in their pants at work, but it’s also what pays the bills, so he has to prepare as much as possible.

His coffee has gotten cold, forgotten as he makes notes and attempts to put together a fluent argument against Valiant. Sometimes, Arthur wonders what it’s like to have free time, but he brushes it off with the knowledge that people with too much free time clearly aren’t doing anything worthwhile. Uther always says that the lazy ones have all the free time in the world. 

“I should be angry with you,” someone says, approaching his table, and he finds Gwen slapping her purse on the table and slipping into the free seat. “Instead, I just pity you.”

Arthur frowns. “Why?” He doesn’t know what Gwen is doing here, but it probably isn’t just to grab a mid-afternoon coffee.

“After your poor showing with Merlin—” Ah, so Merlin had told her. “—I wondered why you could do something so stupid as making your first date at Cenred’s club. Of course, what I know that Merlin doesn’t is that, in your twisted mind, you were trying to help Morgana. It was rather unfortunate that you didn’t think it through, but that’s you.”

Arthur should feel insulted, but instead, he mostly feels as though this speech is pointless. “What is your point, Gwen?” he asks then, running a hand through his hair and sighing at all the work he has to do. 

Leaning forward, she fixes him with a hard stare. “Do you like Merlin?”

There’s no point in denying it with her sitting there, not budging for a moment. He shakes his head at the table. “Yes,” he says. “However, I do believe Merlin doesn’t fancy me back. I, on the other hand, know when to cut my losses.”

“He only doesn’t like you because you’re a show-off.”

Arthur spreads his hands obviously. “And?” He does tend to be a show-off, sometimes accidentally and other times, he just can’t help himself. 

Gwen huffs, pushing back her curly hair. There’s a freckle on her nose that seems darker today as Arthur watches her. “Have you considered apologizing?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t think Merlin is interested in an another apology from me. I don’t think he’s interested in anything from me.” It hurts slightly to admit it, but Arthur has to face facts. There is something fundamentally wrong with him anytime Merlin is around. He can’t seem to have a civil conversation with him that doesn’t end in a row.

“I don’t know about that,” Gwen says loftily, suspicious enough that Arthur frowns.

“What does that mean?”

“He had plenty of things to say about you the other night.”

“Bad things, I’m sure.”

Gwen shrugged. “Yes, some… all, but he’s talking about you which means he has feelings for you.”

“Bad feelings.”

“The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference, and Merlin surely isn’t indifferent to you.”

“Your relationship with Lance has addled your mind,” Arthur says simply, taking a sip of his coffee but making a face at the stone-cold liquid. “If Merlin hates me, it doesn’t mean he likes me.”

“Think of it as kindergarten politics. You push him down and he pushes you back.”

“This isn’t primary school, Gwen.”

“No,” she agrees firmly. “It’s not. So get off that stool and make a gesture. Ask for his forgiveness. I know you’re not too familiar with the idea, but it’s a powerful tool. Don’t let work or your father dictate who you date.”

“My father has nothing to do with Merlin,” Arthur objects. He hasn’t even mentioned Merlin to him, and he doesn’t plan to if the last few boyfriends are anything to judge by. 

Gwen shoots him a look. “We both know that the moment Uther deems him unworthy, you’ll make up an excuse why you can’t see him anymore.”

“I—”

“Choose your own destiny, Arthur,” she says, squeezing his arm. “Be your own man and go try to make things right with Merlin.”

Uther does _not_ pick out his boyfriends, Arthur thinks as Gwen smiles at him. It’s just been pure coincidence that he broke up with Gilli, and Owain… and Tristan after Uther met them. 

Sighing, he pulls his arm from Gwen’s grip. “And what do you suggest?”

She smiles brightly at his response. “Consider his interests and make a gesture.”

Arthur isn’t generally good at gestures, but he figures there’s nothing he can do to make the situation worse, so he nods, and Gwen looks altogether too happy at his agreement.

*

Gestures. Arthur has no idea what kind of gesture would foster forgiveness from Merlin. He considers asking Morgana, but he really doesn’t need more people knowing about this. He tries to imagine what he would do if he wanted Morgana to forgive him for something. Probably just buy her a diamond necklace. Well, he doubts Merlin would appreciate a necklace, but maybe a painting.

Merlin probably won’t appreciate Arthur’s taste in art - he’s said as much already. Arthur really isn’t sure what kind of art Merlin likes except the pointless modern kind that he doesn’t understand. It’s worth a shot, though, so Arthur heads to an art gallery he finds on the internet and hopes he’ll find something that doesn’t want to make him poke his eyes out from sheer boredom.

The shop is a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, the front door hidden behind a rather prominent bush, but Arthur steps in anyway, frowning at the little bell that announces him. At first glance, it appears to be devoid of employees, but a voice comes from around one of the corners, and Arthur ignores it to take in the paintings.

They’re lined up, square little canvases stacked against the walls, and Arthur isn’t sure it’s possible to find anything in there. There’s really nothing for it - he’s going to have to ask the employee for help. If only he could find one.

“It sounds to me,” says a loud, boisterous voice from the back, “like you’ve got it bad for this git.”

“That is completely ridiculous!” comes another, somewhat familiar, voice. Arthur steps around the stacks of paintings and a counter comes into view. There’s a door behind it which is where the voices seem to be coming from.

“You talk about him constantly,” says the first voice again. “You don’t stop complaining about him, and that little message he left you… I’ve heard you replay it five times in the last week.”

“Shove off, Gwaine,” comes the reply, and Arthur is sure he knows that voice now. He waits for the two employees to finally emerge, leaning against the counter.

“You can’t deny it,” Gwaine says, voice muffled behind the wall. “Just give in and shag him already.”

“No. He’s a narcissistic prat who doesn’t deserve it.”

Merlin rounds the corner, and Arthur catches his gasp as their eyes meet.

“Not talking about me, were you?”

“You—” Merlin says, seemingly unable to finish his sentence as he stands frozen in the doorway to the back. “How did—did Gwen—”

“You’re blocking the road.” Another guy, Gwaine it has to be, comes up behind Merlin and gives him a push out of the doorway. Gwaine is one of the best-looking guys Arthur has seen in a while, but it’s more a traditional pretty with shiny brown hair and a chiseled jaw than Arthur is interested in.

Merlin stumbles forward, still staring at Arthur. He snaps out of it a second later, though, hands going to his hips. “What are you doing here? Did Gwen tell you where to find me?”

“Believe it or not, I came here on my own volition.”

Merlin frowns. “To what?”

Arthur gestures around. “Buy art.”

He can see Merlin holding back his snort. He opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by Gwaine shoving past him.

“Who are you?” he asks with a complete lack of tact. Behind his back, Merlin frowns at him.

“Arthur,” Arthur replies, and there’s a pause.

“No,” Gwaine says after a second, a smile curling the edge of his lips.

Arthur’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes.”

“No!” Gwaine cries, a huge grin splitting his face now despite Arthur’s confusion. “Shit, Merlin! You didn’t tell me he was so fit.”

Merlin’s ears go red, and Arthur bites back his laugh, knowing it won’t help the situation.

“Why don’t you go put something away,” Merlin bites out.

“Oh, right, alone time,” Gwaine says with a leering wink. “Don’t let me stop you from doing whatever you want in the store room.”

“Get out!” Merlin snaps, all but pushing Gwaine into the back. He turns back to Arthur, ears still burning and arms crossed over his chest. “You’re not here to buy art.”

Arthur frowns this time. “Why not?”

“Because you think this kind of art isn’t real art.”

“But you do.”

Merlin eyes him warily, and Arthur knows he deserves it. He hasn’t done much in the way of convincing Merlin that he is a nice person.

“So you’re here to, what, buy my forgiveness?”

“Just because I have money, you assume I’m trying to buy you off. I’m trying to apologize, and a gift usually makes things nicer. I thought you’d appreciate it more than a bouquet of flowers. Especially since I don’t even know your favorite flowers.”

Merlin still doesn’t look convinced, and Arthur really doesn’t want to get into yet another argument with him, not when he’s trying to fix things and prove he’s not completely self-centered.

“I didn’t know you worked here - you do work here? It was merely a coincidence.”

“Yes, I work here,” Merlin huffs. “Painting is all well and good but it doesn’t always pay the bills.”

“From your show, I got the impression people liked your work.”

“Some people.” Merlin shoots him a look and rounds the counter. He heads for a stack of paintings that are ready to go on the wall. Arthur turns to watch him. He’d expected to encounter resistance and he isn’t sure how to break through.

“I’ll admit,” he says when Merlin hangs up pictures instead of talking to him. “I have somewhat skewed opinions on certain subjects, influenced heavily by my upbringing.”

Merlin snorts. “Can’t you just say you’re a rich prat?”

Arthur sighs. “Yes, I am.”

That makes Merlin pause and glance back at him. “At least you admit it.”

“I realize we’ve gotten off on a bad footing, and I probably don’t deserve a third chance, but if you’d be willing to give it to me, I’d definitely make up for the first two.”

For a moment, Merlin says nothing, biting his lip and staring at the painting in his hands. Something flutters dangerously in Arthur’s stomach, more of a squeeze than anything else. If Merlin says no, he can’t blame him. If Merlin says no, he’s going back to his flat to work on the depositions and next time he sees Gwen, he’ll give her a piece of his mind about setting people up. He doesn’t want to do any of that, though. 

“What would happen on your proposed third chance?” Merlin asks finally, and Arthur’s heart jumps excitedly.

He smiles. “I’d ask you out and you’d say yes, for one. We’d go to a nice restaurant where we could talk about all the stupid things we like. I’d find out your favorite flower so I could bring it to you on the next date.”

“Someone’s confident.”

“Believe it or not, I am generally a good date.” 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Merlin replies, and Arthur can’t help smiling. 

“How about this Friday? I’ve got a case in the morning but we can celebrate winning that night.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow and Arthur wonders if he’s gone too far. At length, though, Merlin jerks his head.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Friday.”

Something light fills Arthur, a bubble of happiness welling up inside his chest. It isn’t even broken when Gwaine shouts from the back.

“You shag him yet?”

Merlin glares at the door. “Sod off!”

Arthur laughs. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

As he leaves, he hears Merlin storm to the back and start to yell at Gwaine, but he lets the door tinkle behind him. Modern art is starting to grow on him.

*

The days leading up to Friday seem to fly by, mostly in a flurry of paperwork and gathering everything together for the court case. Arthur spends all day at the office and then the rest of the night going through the briefs and putting together his line of questioning. Knee-deep in evidence is where he is when someone knocks on Wednesday night.

Reluctantly, Arthur clears away the files in his lap and gets up to answer it. A part of him isn’t surprised to find Gwen on the other side, a takeaway bag in her hand.

“Evening,” she greets him, entering before he invites her in.

“Gwen,” he replies since there’s no stopping her. 

Gwen sets the bag on the counter and immediately rummages in the cupboards for plates. Arthur doesn’t even ask what she’s doing there anymore. He merely watches her pull out plates and silverware. She makes a face at the available beverage choices in the fridge and settles on bottled water.

“Dare I ask?” Arthur says finally when it’s been several minutes and she hasn’t said anything.

Gwen pauses in separating the sandwiches she’s brought. For a second, she bites her lip but then she sighs. “Morgana’s out with Cenred.”

“What?” Arthur asks, caught by surprise. “Are they back together?” Honestly, he doesn’t understand how Morgana’s mind works. 

Gwen shakes her head and continues setting up the food. “He called her up the other night and wanted to talk. I suppose that’s what they’re doing.”

Arthur shoots her a look. He knows when Gwen is worried and now is one of those times. “You don’t expect they’ll reconcile?”

Gwen hands Arthur a plate with a sandwich and piled high with crisps. “I hope they figure something out. It would be nice to see Morgana happy. It would be nice to see both of you happy.”

“Will you give it a rest?” he asks, returning to the sofa. Gwen follows. “Not everyone can be nauseatingly happy like you and Lance.”

“You seem set on it,” she points out, and Arthur resolutely doesn’t tell her about his date with Merlin on Friday. He doesn’t want to jinx it, and after everything that’s happened, he knows he would.

“I have other priorities,” he replies, gesturing at the coffee table piled high with documents. 

“Perhaps you should take up volunteering,” she says. “It’s a great way to get more fulfillment in your life.”

“I’m not going to spend my free time bathing old people.”

She shoots him a reproachful look. “There are other things you can do. Though personally, I think you’d benefit spending some time with people who are out of your comfort zone.”

Arthur doubts it but he doesn’t say as much. Instead, he shakes his head. “I’d rather do something relaxing. After this case is done, there’s nothing big coming up so I’ll have some time to slow down.”

Gwen doesn’t look convinced. “You say that every time, and every time, another case comes up and you’re buried for weeks.”

“It’s the nature of the job.” Being a solicitor isn’t always fun and it certainly isn’t easy, but it’s something Arthur was bound for since birth, given that the firm had been in the family for generations. It had been quite a blow to Uther to discover Arthur was gay and therefore probably wouldn’t be having any children to carry on the business. His only hopes now lie in Morgana, but his disdain of Cenred prevents him from having much hope.

Gwen sighs. “I just wish I knew it actually made you happy.”

“It does,” he assures her.

“Truly happy, I mean,” she says. “Work can’t make you happy, not that way. It’s why we needs friends and relationships.”

“I have friends.” Arthur doesn’t feel the need to prove his happiness. Gwen knows perfectly well that he has mates. “You’re just worried that Cenred is going to hurt Morgana again. I understand. We all know what kind of uncouth, barbaric, harem-gathering person—”

“Arthur!”

“—that Cenred is,” Arthur finishes. “But if he makes her happy, we have to accept that.”

Gwen checks her watch with a sigh. “I just want her to find the right person.”

“And be home early enough to tell you how it went.”

She shakes her head but smiles anyway. “Eat your sandwich. Don’t want you to starve.”

Arthur would argue that he can feed himself, but the sandwich looks pretty good so he merely shrugs and takes a bite.

*

On Friday, Arthur loses. 

Despite all the evidence and all the testimonies, they lose to Valiant’s sneering face. It makes Arthur’s blood boil, the unfairness of it all, the injustice of losing a sexual harassment case where now more people will be subjected to Valiant’s treatment. Morgause’s threat to sue them next does not help either, and he stomps out of the courtroom, followed closely by an angry Leon.

“Complete bullshit,” Leon mutters as they head down the stairs to the front door. “That’s what that was.”

“Someone had to have paid off the judge,” Arthur replies, banging out the front door. “Can’t explain it any other way. Some justice system.”

“Almost enough to make you want to quit and become a gardener, isn’t it?” Leon asks, bundling up his coat and frowning at the consistent drizzle beyond the roof overhang. 

Arthur considers it for a second, but despite the lost cases, there are also the ones they win. Those are the ones that make it worth it. He doesn’t answer Leon and hails a taxi instead. They ride back to the office in silence, and it’s all Arthur can do not to go over every single detail of the presentation and try to work out where things went wrong. Nothing went wrong. 

By the time they make it back, he is in no mood for Uther’s lecture, but he still gets it. Sitting in the conference room, empty but for him and Uther, Arthur rubs his forehead and tries not to interrupt Uther’s tirade.

“How could we lose a case like this?” he asks, pacing in front of the table. “It was practically in your hand already.”

“Someone bribed the judge,” Arthur says. “Valiant most likely.” It makes him just as upset, but he still has to listen to Uther’s lecture about the standards of the Pendragon firm.

Uther paces again, hands curling and uncurling at his sides as though he wants to hit something. Arthur has never seen his father this upset, and it can’t be one lost case that’s done it.

“Between you losing and Morgana’s news, this is turning out to be quite an unhappy day,” Uther says, more to himself than anything. 

“What news?”

Uther pauses and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “It seems Morgana has gotten engaged.”

“To Cenred?” Arthur asks, eyebrows rising. This is the first he’s hearing of it, although he bets if he phones Gwen, she’ll tell him all the details he doesn’t want to know about. 

“I can’t understand that girl,” Uther says, shaking his head. “She seems to take delight in bringing me unsettling news.”

That sounds like Morgana. Arthur is sure she was gleeful on the phone. “At least she’s happy.”

Uther groans and presses a finger to his temple. “At least you haven’t gotten engaged to some hippy artist type.”

Arthur pauses at that, mind flitting to Merlin. Merlin and their date. Tonight. Merlin is certainly the artist type, and he has a feeling that Uther would not approve in the least. Then again, Uther hasn’t approved of the last five people he’s dated.

“Yes,” he agrees at length and falls silent as Uther begins to pace once more.

*

Arthur is already late. He’d spent entirely too much time deciding what to wear - vacillating between too casual and too overdressed. He’d finally settled on slacks and a casual jacket but even that feels wrong. He isn’t sure what it is, but his excitement seems to have faded into something closer to nerves as he heads for the restaurant. Arthur is never nervous before dates. 

He chalks it up to lingering annoyance over the day, the stress of Uther and Morgana’s news. Morgana couldn’t possibly have known about the outcome of the case, but somehow, he still wonders if she timed it this way on purpose.

The restaurant he picked is one he actually thinks Merlin will like. It’s not uptight or ridiculously expensive. It’s a chic place across the river, filled with little dining nooks, low lighting, and excellent food. Arthur can’t really appreciate it, though, not tonight when his mind is preoccupied with so many other things.

To his surprise, Merlin is there before him. He’s already sitting at a booth near the wall, sipping a brightly-colored drink. Arthur smiles when he sees him, forgetting his day for a moment. He doesn’t wait for Merlin to spot him and slips into the seat across from him instead.

“Nice to see you here,” he greets Merlin, noting the way Merlin’s mouth quirks ever so slightly.

“Didn’t think I’d show?”

“I never doubt myself.” Arthur smiles. It’s a lie, but it’s one he’s told a thousand times to a thousand different people, even to himself. 

“So your case went well?” Merlin asks, sipping his drink.

Arthur grimaces. “No, actually, we lost.”

“Really?” Merlin’s eyebrows go up. “So you didn’t get your money-laundering client out of jail?”

“It was a sexual harassment suit. The only one who’s happy with the verdict is the prick who paid off the judge and now he can harass anyone else he wants. Needless to say, my client is not very satisfied.” Arthur dreads the next meeting with Morgause. 

Merlin is silent for a moment, sipping his drink. Arthur looks around for a server, but he doesn’t see any. He could really use a drink right now. 

“So you represent normal people?” Merlin asks. Arthur arches an eyebrow at that.

“We represent anyone who asks for our services. We’re not a pick and choose kind of law firm.”

Merlin pauses. “You’re upset about the case, aren’t you?”

Arthur sighs. Where is that server? “If I could find that judge and drag him into a back alley right now, you could almost guarantee the ruling would be changed.” He shakes his head. “I’d rather not talk about it, though. Tonight is not supposed to be about my failed case. It’s our first official date. We should talk about something nicer.”

“What’s nicer than sexual harassment?” Merlin smirks as Arthur laughs. 

“Plenty of things. Like, where did you get that drink?”

“Bar.” Merlin nods over to a long bar that runs the length of the far wall. 

“Where are the servers?”

“Few and far between it seems.”

Just as Merlin says it, a man pops up at their table wearing all black and smiles at both of them.

“Hello! My name is Elyan and I’ll be your—Arthur?”

“Elyan!” Arthur stands to shake the man’s hand. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Just started a few weeks ago,” he says, smile bright. “I thought Gwen would have told you.”

“I’ve been busy,” Arthur says, and then noticing Merlin staring between them, gestures at him. “This is Merlin. Merlin, this is Elyan, Gwen’s brother.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, sounding almost relieved. “Good to meet you.”

“Can I get you something to drink, mate?” Elyan asks. “Wait, don’t tell me - scotch on the rocks.”

Arthur laughs. “Right on the money.”

“I’ll be right back,” Elyan says and leaves to get the drink.

“You just know everyone, don’t you?” Merlin asks when he’s gone. 

“That was just a coincidence. I honestly haven’t seen Elyan in a few a months. He tends to move around quite a bit.”

“So this isn’t a plan to show off how well-connected you are?”

Arthur shakes his head, gazing at Merlin for a moment. Merlin looks much the same as when they first met only a month ago. There’s a speckle of blue paint near his temple, a spot he missed while showering. It makes Arthur smile.

“What?” Merlin asks, frowning slightly as Arthur continues to gaze at him. 

“Nothing. Just thinking about the first time we met.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we forgot that?”

“Why?”

Merlin grabs his drink. “You didn’t come off very well.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to explain,” Arthur argues, but Merlin scoffs.

“You insulted my paintings, right in front of me. What was to explain?”

“That I was an insufferable prat who needed to be put in his place?”

“I could have told you that.” Merlin smiles, and Arthur feels something warm curling in his stomach. At the moment, he doesn’t care if Elyan ever comes back with his drink. He’d be content to sit here with Merlin smiling at him all night. 

After a moment, he swears Merlin blushes and looks away, but it’s dark so maybe he’s imagining it. 

“You still think I’m an insufferable prat?”

Merlin glances up from his drink, long fingers twined around the glass. “Yes,” he answers honestly. “But you may have some redeeming qualities.”

Arthur smiles as Elyan returns with his drink. “Good to hear.”

*

“I swear I’m telling the truth,” Merlin says as Arthur tries not to laugh too hard. His food is forgotten, along with Merlin’s, and he has no idea how long they’ve been at the restaurant. The case has long been forgotten in favor of watching the way Merlin smiles, eye crinkling in the corners, and the way he uses his hands when he speaks. “Gwaine fell off the horse and it dragged him nearly a quarter mile until it ran into a river and had to stop. Not before it tried to cross. Gwaine was so angry.”

“So you’ve known Gwaine a while?”

“He’s pretty much my best mate,” Merlin says, grabbing his drink. Arthur isn’t sure how many either of them have had, but it’s enough that everything feels warm and pleasant. Not enough to make anyone drunk, but just enough to make both of them talkative. Merlin, it turns out, is very chatty. “I’ve known him since secondary. We dated a couple times, but it was kind of weird so…” He shrugs. “I haven’t had too many relationships.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not very successful at relationships either.”

“Maybe it’s because you insult your dates before you even ask them out.”

“It was an accident,” Arthur says. “Besides, it got you to notice me.”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t what you were aiming for.”

Arthur has to agree considering he hadn’t even considered Merlin for a second when they’d first met. Ugly clothes and big ears. He’s growing to like the skinny jeans, though, especially when Merlin turns around. The ears are cute too, especially when he blushes and the red reaches all the way to the tip. 

“Maybe not, but it’ll make Gwen and Morgana happy.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He finishes his drink and pauses. “Did your visit to Cenred help at all?”

Arthur laughs and downs what’s left of his drink. “Morgana had quite a word about that, so I’d say no, although they did get engaged.”

“They did? That’s great!” Merlin says, and Arthur shrugs.

“We’ll see if they actually make it to the wedding.”

Merlin frowns and reaches over to hit Arthur’s arm. His fingers brush against his skin, and Arthur pauses at the touch, the way his skin tingles where Merlin touches him. “That’s mean. Do you know how to be nice?”

“They don’t have the best record so far,” Arthur replies, but his mind isn’t on Cenred. Instead, it’s on Merlin and Merlin’s hands. 

Merlin nods slowly. “Think they’ll ask you to be the best man?”

Arthur laughs again and shakes his head. “I doubt Cenred wants me anywhere near him, and the feeling’s mutual.” Silence falls for a moment between them. Around them, other people talk, silverware chinks, and servers rattle off daily specials. It’s late already, and Arthur doesn’t want to check the time. For once, though, he doesn’t have to get up early. He doesn’t have any major case work to do this weekend. The only good thing about losing the case is that it’s over. He glances at Merlin. “You ready to get out of here?”

Merlin hesitates a second and then shrugs. “I suppose.”

Arthur pays the check despite Merlin’s insistence and they walk out slowly. It’s different than at Cenred’s club. There’s something lingering in the air as they stand outside in the chilly air, hands stuffed into pockets, waiting for someone to say something.

Shifting, Arthur glances at Merlin. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to ask Merlin to come back to his flat so he can snog him senseless - it’s that he’s not sure Merlin will say yes. On any other date, he would have already made a move and made his intentions quite clear, but there’s a sort of blurry line when it comes to Merlin and he’s not sure what is or isn’t crossing it. 

“Do you need to get home?” he asks finally as they watch cab after cab pass them on the street. 

For a moment, Merlin says nothing, and when Arthur chances a glance, Merlin is staring hard across the street at the used bookstore that is currently closed. Merlin meets his eyes, though, after a bit, and the corner of his mouth curves slightly.

“Not particularly.”

Arthur takes that as a yes and hails a cab as it passes. His hand brushes against Merlin’s back as he opens the door for him, and Merlin doesn’t step away from it this time. His heart jumps stupidly at the realization, and he slides in after Merlin, shutting the door with a snap.

*

It takes entirely too much time to get to Arthur’s flat, through the traffic and Friday night pedestrians. By the time they get there, Arthur isn’t quite sure what to do. With anyone else, they would have been snogging the minute the door shut behind them. He’d already have Merlin’s ugly sweater on the floor instead of Merlin tugging down the sleeves nervously and glancing around at his living room. Merlin’s different, though. Everything is different with Merlin.

“Would you like a drink?” Arthur asks as he shrugs off his coat. 

“Sure.” Merlin shrugs, and Arthur goes to the kitchen. Standing before the cupboards, he grimaces. Why is this so hard? For some reason, he can never find the right words with Merlin, and right now, he’s fairly sure that saying, ‘Fancy taking off your clothes and hopping into bed with me?’ wouldn’t be the right thing either. 

He pulls out a bottle of scotch and pours two glasses then, bringing it out to Merlin and handing it over. Merlin takes it but doesn’t drink right away. Arthur downs his. Maybe some liquid courage will help the words come. He’s never had a problem with words before - he is a lawyer, after all - but anything he thinks to say only comes out sounding stupid.

“Nice flat,” Merlin says at length, and maybe he’s having trouble with words as well if the way he fidgets is any indication. He twirls the glass between his fingers, gazing down at the clear liquid. It’s not the Merlin Arthur has grown used to arguing with over the past few weeks.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur says finally, taking Merlin’s drink from him and setting it on the table. “We both know why we’re here.”

“Because you don’t take no for an answer?” Merlin offers with a hint of a smile. 

Stepping forward, Arthur smiles as well. He’s almost in Merlin’s space, a few inches away, enough that Merlin can still get away if he wants. Arthur is fairly sure he won’t, though. He sees Merlin breathe in, his eyes flicker to Arthur’s, mouth twitching.

“Let’s just be honest, Merlin. Even though you think I’m a huge prat, you still want to snog me. Is that right?”

“You forgot overconfident prick.”

Arthur laughs and reaches for Merlin’s hair. He brushes it back, past his ear, fingers grazing over the shell. “And while you’re still a somewhat elitist painter, I’d very much like to snog you as well.”

“Elitis—”

Arthur cuts off Merlin’s indignant reply with a hand pressed to the small of his back, a jerk, and Merlin comes forward, hands against Arthur’s chest. For a moment, they stay pressed flat, almost as if Merlin might push himself away, but they curl into Arthur’s shirt a moment later. 

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Let’s be honest,” he says, a smile curving his lips. He doesn’t finish his thought, leaning forward and kissing Arthur.

Merlin’s mouth is everything Arthur imagined it to be - soft but firm, gentle but demanding at the same time. Merlin knows what he wants. He doesn’t waste time being sweet or coy or anything else. He lets Arthur in but bites back. He curls in against Arthur, his body warm and solid, thin but strong. Arthur’s hand grips Merlin’s lower back as their lips meet, pulling him in closer.

Arthur walks Merlin back until they hit the back of the sofa and he can box Merlin in against it, a hand sliding to Merlin’s neck, brushing against his skin, and he feels Merlin shiver. He grins against Merlin’s mouth, ignoring the way Merlin gives him a tiny shove and mutters, “Shut up.”

“It’s nice,” he murmurs back, licking inside Merlin’s mouth, tasting the remnants of his drink at dinner. “That I do that to you.”

Merlin groans, arms twining around Arthur’s neck as he bites at Arthur’s lips. “Insufferable git.”

Arthur doesn’t bother replying. He’s got other things on his mind as he presses forward, hips meeting Merlin’s finally for a slow slide that burns over his skin. With his free hand, he reaches down and palms Merlin through his jeans. He enjoys the way Merlin pushes up into his hand, unashamed at his actions. Merlin’s kisses become harder, less controlled as Arthur strokes against the fabric, feeling Merlin harden under his hand. 

Arthur likes that after all the arguing, all the discomfort and annoyance, he’s able to have Merlin like this. Thank God Merlin gave him a third chance. He isn’t all too sure he deserved it, but he’s glad he’s got it if it means Merlin moaning, breaking the kiss to suck in a breath and grit his teeth.

“Fuck,” Merlin curses, his cheeks going red from arousal instead of anger this time. His fingers dig into Arthur’s shoulders as he pushes him back. Arthur stumbles a step, surprised, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Merlin’s darkened eyes stop him. A sharp prickle of electricity runs through him and his cock throbs in his trousers.

Merlin says nothing, raising his chin slightly, lips parted. Arthur just wants to get back to it, but Merlin’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“When you’re not talking, you have a pretty nice mouth,” Merlin says at length.

“So do you.”

Merlin smiles, slow and smooth. Fuck, Arthur wants him to stop talking so he can get him naked. Talking is clearly their biggest problem but there are ways to remedy that.

“That’s not what I meant,” Merlin says, and Arthur feels the pressure on his shoulder. _Oh_.

It’s not naked, but it’s as close as Arthur is going to get at the moment, and he’ll take it. Merlin releases his shoulders once Arthur gets the message, bracing himself back against the sofa as Arthur kisses him hard, hands reaching for his jeans and pulling them open. He slides down the zipper, sliding his hand in against Merlin.

Merlin sucks in a breath as Arthur presses against his erection, stroking him slowly. Merlin feels big in his hand, warm and heavy. Moving down, Arthur slides his mouth over the long expanse of Merlin’s throat, nipping at the pale skin until he drops to his knees on the hardwood floor. Prying Merlin’s jeans down, he’s faced with Merlin’s cock. Arthur has thought about this moment before, but in the past few weeks, he hadn’t been sure it would ever come. Now that it’s here, it’s just about everything he wants.

Peppering kisses to Merlin’s hips, he shoves up his jumper to get to his stomach. His hand continues its slow strokes of Merlin’s prick, bringing it to full attention. The jumper is ugly, but he hasn’t gotten it off yet.

“Off,” he mutters finally, shoving at the fabric until Merlin relents and pulls it over his head. It leaves his hair mussed, a nice look to compliment his flushed face. 

Finally, he’s got Merlin naked, exposed before him. He takes a second to take it all in, but Merlin’s insistent hand on his shoulder forces him back to the matter at hand. Moving in, Arthur takes a moment to slide his tongue over Merlin’s hip bone. He squeezes Merlin’s cock, listening to Merlin’s stuttered breath above him. Apparently this is the way to get him to stop talking. Arthur will have to remember that.

Merlin opens his mouth to speak when Arthur pauses, but Arthur isn’t going to let him start. He shifts on his knees and doesn’t hesitate to take Merlin in his mouth.

Arthur hasn’t done this for a while, but he remembers how it goes. Merlin feels heavy against his tongue as he slides in, licking around his cock and sucking until Merlin’s hand finds its way into his hair. Merlin moans above him, biting his lip and tilting his head back. Arthur glances up as he moves back and forward, hand squeezing the base. Merlin’s skin is hot to the touch, and his hips jerk minutely with Arthur’s movements. Arthur can tell he’s trying to hold back, not to choke him.

Arthur doesn’t want him to hold back, not after everything they’ve gone through. Pulling away, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath. His cock is throbbing in his trousers, too turned on to focus completely on one thing. Reaching down, he strokes himself slowly, pressing against the bulge in his slacks.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” he says, eyes dragging up Merlin’s body until he meets his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Merlin breathes back, but things change noticeably after that. Merlin’s hand tightens in his hair and his hips push into Arthur’s mouth, fucking his throat as Arthur moves with him. It isn’t long before they get the rhythm down.

Arthur sucks Merlin’s cock until his lips are sore and his knees scream in protest of the hard wood floor. Merlin can’t hold on much longer, he thinks, sliding his hands back to rub Merlin’s balls. They’re tight under his fingers, and he pulls away from Merlin for a second, sliding his tongue up the length of his prick. His free hand has made its way under the waistband of his trousers, stroking himself steadily as he sucks off Merlin. 

“Shit, Arthur,” Merlin gasps finally, his whole body tensing, and Arthur barely pulls away before come hits his chin. He stroke Merlin through his release until Merlin is just mumbling nonsense about his mouth. He doesn’t let Merlin get too far, pulling him down.

Arthur gets Merlin to the ground, capturing his lips in a kiss as he crawls over him. Merlin’s body is languid underneath him, movements slow and easy. Merlin raises a hand to Arthur’s temple, brushing through his hair as Arthur kisses him. Something stirs in Arthur’s gut at the gesture. He hates to think that Gwen is right about everything, but she just might be when it comes to Merlin. She’ll never let him live that down either.

He still hasn’t gotten off, though, and he jerks up against Merlin, shoving down his trousers and kicking them away. Merlin watches him with an amused smile, like he has nothing better to do than kiss Arthur and watch him jerk himself off. No need to offer to help, the git.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says though Merlin has said nothing, and he kisses the smile right off Merlin’s face as he strokes himself until he comes with a groan against Merlin’s lips. Heat washes over him as he slides down, the tension draining from him as he comes. Sighing, he lets his body slide against Merlin’s, sticky, and Merlin laughs. 

They lie like that for a second until Arthur gathers the strength to push himself up. Gazing down at Merlin, he smiles at the way his hair sticks up at odd angles and how the flush along his collarbone is just now beginning to fade. 

“Guess this means we’re on for a second date,” he says.

Merlin blinks and then smiles, wide and bright in a way that makes Arthur’s heart ache inexplicably. He’ll blame Gwen when the thought of ‘eternal happiness’ drifts through his brain a moment later. 

“If you can manage not to ruin it.”

“I think a fourth chance might be going a little overboard.”

“Just a bit,” Merlin agrees and leans up to kiss him. 

Merlin certainly isn’t like the others Arthur has dated, but as they lie on the floor, he thinks that maybe it was fate that had brought them together. A little voice in the back of his head says it was Gwen, but he likes the idea of fate better, and he knows that no matter what Merlin says, they’ll always be a fourth chance. He’ll never need it, though.

*

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

“Don’t even say it,” Arthur says on his way to refill his wine glass. He tries his best to ignore Gwen’s grin from where she leans against the counter. Beside her, Morgana is putting the finishing touches on a cake. Arthur sincerely hopes Gwen helped her with the baking part. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gwen says with the good grace to act insulted at Arthur’s comment, but her eyes light up a second later and she sighs. “It’s so wonderful, isn’t it?”

Arthur shakes his head and grabs the wine bottle instead. Morgana says nothing. Out in the living area, Arthur has left Merlin with Cenred and Lance. He hopes he can handle himself.

“Everything is working out. Morgana and Cenred are getting married. Lance and I are moving in together. And Arthur and Merlin—”

“Can finally have a decent conversation,” Morgana pipes up, shooting Arthur a smirk.

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me, Cenred would still be moping around his club,” Arthur points out, but Morgana rolls her eyes. 

“And if it wasn’t for Gwen, you’d still be married to your job,” she replies, finishing up the cake and turning to face him. Arthur has to admit that she looks much happier now that Cenred has come round and pulled his head from his ass. 

Arthur doesn’t even dignify that with a response, sipping his wine instead as Gwen goes to check on the guests. Morgana shoots him a look before leaving too. He doesn’t follow and refills the glass again.

“Are you hiding in here?” Merlin pops his head in. His cheeks are flushed from the wine he’s had, but he looks much happier than he did the first time Arthur met him at Gwen’s. It seems so long ago now, but it’s only been a few months.

“Yes,” Arthur confirms, and Merlin laughs, stepping into the kitchen. Arthur draws him in, arms around his back. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from the rest of those people as well.”

“Gwen and Lance are lovely people.”

“And Cenred and Morgana?”

“I like Morgana, and I’m sure I’ll grow to appreciate Cenred.”

Arthur laughs and brushes a kiss against Merlin’s lips. “Very diplomatic answer. Maybe you should join the firm.”

Merlin kisses him a little longer before replying. “Or I could just let you do the arguing in the courtroom, and when you get home, I’ll argue you out of your clothes.”

“Not much of a fight there,” Arthur murmurs, smiling against Merlin’s lips.

“Stop being inappropriate and come to the table!” Morgana shouts from the living room, effectively ruining the moment. 

Arthur huffs and pulls away reluctantly. “We could have stayed in tonight.”

Merlin smirks as he leads the way out, his hand in Arthur’s. “They’re your friends.”

Arthur doesn’t feel as though that’s much of an argument for staying, but he takes his seat next to Merlin, across from Cenred. 

Gwen grabs her glass and raises it. “I just want to make a toast,” she says, ignoring how Arthur suppresses his groan. “To things working out and to the invariable happiness that comes to everyone.”

Despite the cheesiness, Arthur takes a sip and his hand finds Merlin’s leg under the table. Merlin meets his eyes for a brief second and smiles. Even though it’s only been a few months, Arthur has a feeling about Merlin. He hasn’t met Uther yet, but even when he does, it won’t make a difference. Merlin’s probably the only person Arthur has dated who won’t be intimidated by his father. 

The conversation goes on between the others, but Arthur merely watches Merlin. Merlin glances at him after a moment. 

“What?”

Arthur pauses. “I was just thinking maybe it’s time you met my father.”

Merlin smiles after a second. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Arthur echoes, squeezing Merlin’s leg. Merlin’s going to be fine with Uther, he’s sure. If anyone can put up with Arthur, they can certainly handle his father. He has no doubts that everything is going to work out this time. No more chances. This is the only one he needs.

* 

FIN.


End file.
